In the Yule-Log Glow, Book II

oyously about cook-shops, wine-booths, and busy stores. Rustling with a light sweep of sound against the flower-twined and be-ribboned stalls, branches of green holly, or who

n, red in the fog; and in the town is such gaiety, such hurry of preparation for the holiday, that

undred and seventy, and the holy day is only a pretext the more to drink to

have never shined before as they do to-night; nor has his little wicker satchel ever jingled so lightly. Across his sleeve, worn by the cords of sacks

rybody knows old Cahn has no country. His fatherland is his strong box. And, moreover, he has neither family nor friends,-nothing but debtors. His sons and his associates are gone away long ago with the arm

soners of war. He is always prowling about the barracks to buy watches, shoulder-knots, medals, post-orders. You may see him g

anyting

closes at five o'clock, and that there are two Frenchmen who await him high up in that tall black building with straight, iron-