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The North Mountain was passed—that giant reposing
at full length upon the margin of the pretty stream,
murmuring over such beautiful mossy rocks in its pilgrimage
to the Potomac—a huge bulk unmoved by wars
or rumors of wars, unaffected by the changes in all human
things, indifferent equally to the snows of winter
falling on his brow, and summer sunlight flooding with
its joyful radiance all his supine length—ever silent and
uncomplaining, ever patiently biding his time, through
pleasant days when birds sing merrily in the blue mid
air above, through winter nights when the chill wind
sighs through the evergreens, bowing their lofty heads in
wonder at its tidings of far distant lands!

A moment's pause on the high-raised summit, to gaze
upon the wide Lowland, wrapped in its bridal garment
and flashing in the sunlight, and the sleighs sped on.
They passed down the steep road carefully, fled by the
old Tuscarora meeting-house, whose walls, could they
speak, might relate to the present generation many wondrous
narratives of the olden time, and so with merrily
tinkling bells, ran like bright dragon flies, stripped of
their obscuring mail and darting like light-flashes through
the sunlight, into the bustling town.

Christmas was coming in Martinsburg also. At the
rumor of Saint Nicholas's expected arrival—not by the
cars, however, be it understood—the whole town had
come forth to look for him; as when a great man is expected
daily, the whole community are abroad to welcome
him.

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The stores were decked out in their gayest stuffs; in
every window silks and velvets, and tempting jewelry, for
Christmas presents, caught the eye; and every street was
full of joyful wayfarers—holiday-looking young gentlemen—
and gayly dressed ladies, and rejoicing children—
going the rounds to look at the myriad of pretty things and
purchase their presents for the coming Christmas night.

Conspicuous among these handsomely decorated stores
was that of our old acquaintance, Mr. Barlow; that Mr.
Barlow who had promised faithfully on no account to sell
the Romeo coat to any one but Max, in the old times,
merry and long ago. He was still the obliging and
worthy gentleman he had proved himself on that occasion;
full of very cheerful smiles, and ready to unroll for
all who entered his broad door, his various attractive
cloths and silks and velvets.

The young girls stopped first before his door; and the
gallantry of their cavaliers was quite obscured by that of
Mr. Barlow, who assisted them to the broad, well-matted
door step with profound and most engaging courtesy.

“Good-morning, Mr. Barlow,” cried Caroline, “how
many pretty things you have! Please show me that velvet.”

Mr. Barlow unrolled it.

The velvet was such as Caroline wanted, and she purchased
enough for her Christmas gift to her mother; then
a large bundle of warm worsted for comforts; these were
intended for her father and grandfather.

“Velvet? What is that for, my dear Miss Caroline?”
asked Mr. Robert Emberton, languidly.

“For a present, sir,” said Caroline.

“Ah, yes! really now that did not occur to me. And
that thread?”

“What thread?”

“In your hand.”

“It is not thread; it is worsted.”

“Worsted—really! and what do you purpose making
of that worsted?”

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“Making use of it,” said Caroline.

“No!” said Mr. Emberton.

“Now, Mr. Barlow,” continued Caroline, “please show
me some pearl-colored cloth, very fine but thick and
warm.”

Mr. Barlow took down a roll.

Caroline bent over and whispered to him, inquiringly.

“Oh, yes; quite enough,” said Mr. Barlow, smiling with
a look of perfect intelligence, “will you have that much?”

“If you please.”

“How much?” said Mr. Emberton, turning round,
“and what is it?”

“It is cloth—pearl-colored—you may see for yourself,”
said Caroline, indifferently.

“And what is it for, pray,” continued Mr. Emberton,
yawning, “presents or use?”

“Both, sir,” said Caroline.

“For whom?”

“That is my secret.”

“A gentleman?”

“Yes—a gentleman,” said Caroline, laughing and
blushing slightly.

Mr. Emberton's manner lost a little of its languor, and
he glanced quickly at Max. That gentleman had on,
under his surtout, a complete suit of pearl colored cloth,
whose color matched precisely that which had just been
purchased by Caroline. His hat alone was black, and it
was perfectly plain to Mr. Emberton that the cloth now
selected by his cousin was to be made into a cap to suit
the rest. This view was farther confirmed by the purchase
on Caroline's part of ribbons, pearl buttons, etc., etc.
such as were needed for the purpose.

Mr. Emberton became jealous and gloomy, and from time
to time cast ill-humored glances at both Max and Caroline.

Let us now see how Alice had got on with her purchases
at the other end of the counter, where a polite
shopman—overwhelmed and confounded by her soft voice

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and the tender beauty of her little face—outdid himself
in the rapidity with which he complied with her demands.

Alice commenced as Caroline had done, by purchasing—
with the greater part of her money—those things which
were destined to form presents for her mother, father, and
grandfather. These she selected with great care, and had
wrapped up in a separate bundle.

“Grandfather will be pleased I know, cousin Max,”
said the young girl, “with what I have for him this time.
Now I must not neglect my other friends.”

Max, looking tenderly but anxiously at his cousin,
made no reply.

Alice said something to the shopman in a low tone which
Max did not catch; and the overwhelmed and confounded
knight of the yard-stick—the most gallant and disinterested
of men—hurried to obey. He took down a roll of silk.

“Yes, that is very pretty.”

“Here is the price, Miss—it is not dear, Miss—”

“No—not at all.”

“But we can sell it to you cheaper—you are our regular
customers, Miss.”

“Thank you, sir; please cut me off enough for the
pattern.”

“What is that, cousin Alice?” asked Max, taking up
the handsome piece of stuff.

“Silk,” said Alice, smiling.

“I know it is silk; but what for? A present?”

“Yes—a present,” said Alice, blushing like a rose.

“For whom, may I ask.”

“Yes; you may ask! though that answer is far more
like sister, who is so merry, than myself—you know I am
so quiet,” replied Alice, with a sparkle of her soft merry eyes.

The polite shopman heaved a deep sigh—he was a captive
forever.

“You mean I may ask, but that you will not tell me,”
said Max.

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“Yes; I can not tell you,” said Alice.

“At least you can tell me what is to be made of this
handsome silk.”

“No, indeed I can not.”

“Why?”

“That would be half of the joke, you know,” replied
Alice, her lovely face lit up radiantly.

The poor knight of the stick put his hand upon his
heart, where, at that moment, a heavy load seemed to rest.

“I'm afraid it's no joke to me,” said Max, laughing.
“But give me some guesses, as the children say.”

“No, I can not.”

“Not for a dress?”

“I can not answer.”

“What is it for—do tell me.”

“You quoted the children just now,” Alice said, laughing
too, “well, I will answer as the children do—it is
for laroes to catch meddlers, cousin Max.”

“Oh, how unfriendly you are, cousin.”

“Unfriendly?” said the young girl, softly.

“Yes; you will not tell me; let me think!”

Max glanced round, and his eyes fell on Mr. Emberton.
That gentleman was clad in black—plain and elegant,
though rather dandified—the only exception being his
waistcoat, which was a bright searlet, in the latest mode.

“Your silk is for a waistcoat, cousin Alice,” said Max, his
merriment suddenly changing to mortification and gloom.

Alice blushed and looked furtively at her cousin; and
without thinking, said:

“How could you guess?”

“It is for a waistcoat, then?” asked Max, in a mortified
tone.

“Yes, cousin Max,” said Alice, in a low voice.

Max gently bowed his head, making no reply; then he
turned away without heeding the hurt and embarrassed
expression on Alice's lovely face, for she had with those

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jealous eyes of hers, noted his mortified tone and sudden
gloom. Nothing could be more lovely than the young
girl's face at the moment.

The knight before mentioned heaved a sigh so piteous
and profound, that “it did seem to shatter all his bulk.”
He was afterward heard to declare, that he would win
that young lady for his bride, or perish in the attempt.

The whole party left Mr. Barlow's, and once more entered
their sleighs—Mr. Robert Emberton and Max exchanging
moody glances, Alice and Caroline scarce knowing
what to think.

A ride of a hundred yards brought them to the jeweler's.

The jeweler's was not less brilliantly decked out than
Mr. Barlow's; or rather it as much exceeded in splendor
that more useful establishment, as rich gold and silver
vessels, and rings, and breastpins, and bracelets exceed
the brightest silks, and the most richly woven cloths.

The shopman here seemed to be not less gallant than
that unfortunate knight at Mr. Barlow's. He had the
eyes of Argus and the hands of Briareus; but to set off
these attractions, he was as huge as the giant Enceladus,
and as ugly as Irus, the poorest of the Greeks. He had
long ago cast his eyes on Alice, that bright saint so far
above him; not matrimonially;—he never dreamed of that;
but with the despairing adoration of a Chaldean priest,
pouring forth his love and worship for some bright particular
star glittering in the far golden Orient.

But it will not be necessary for the purposes of our
tale, to dwell upon the private feelings of this gentleman.
We will, however, add, before dismissing him and his
passion, that the mysterious affair which soon after convulsed
the borough with curiosity and dreadfulest suspense,
was owing to the fact that he and the knight at
Mr. Barlow's had come to a mutual knowledge of each
other's feelings. A bloody duel was anticipated, and
every number of the “Martinsburg Gazette” was

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carefully scanned by the breathless community—the editor
of that paper having acquired a high reputation for skill
in getting at the “latest news” of every description. The
whole affair, however, was finally ended by a “correspondence”
in that paper—in which the friends of the two
parties, over their signatures, “were gratified to inform
the public that the misunderstanding, etc., etc., had been
amicably arranged in a manner satisfactory to both gentlemen”—
after which the subject was dismissed, and no
longer afforded a topic for tea-table gossip.

But we digress;—the young gentlemen and their
fair companions made their purchases duly—the ladies
not looking at the gentlemen, the gentlemen not looking
at the ladies. But the unfortunate comedy, of which we
have carefully traced a number of scenes, had not yet run
its full complement of nights, or rather days.

Max bought an elegant bracelet.

“It is for sister;” said Alice to herself, “she has one
on her arm which just matches it.”

And Alice looked very low-spirited.

Mr. Emberton purchased a very pretty pair of ear-rings.

“They are for Alice;” said Caroline to herself, with a
most engaging pout, “I know they are; she said the
other day, and he heard her, that she was about to bore
her ears. Mr. Emberton might have accomplished that
painful object without buying ear-rings for her.”

And Caroline sighed.

Then, the jewels being carefully wrapped in their snowy
cotton wrappings and put away securely in their small
boxes, the party once more commenced their rounds.
Early in the afternoon their purchases were completed,
and with the merry jingle of those never-quiet bells the
sleighs fled back toward the mountains.

This time Max and Caroline were in advance

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