From the Saturday Courier.

TRENTON, y a IA.
OR, THE FOOTSTEP IN THE SNOW.

A TRADITION OF CHRISTMAS NIGHT

BY GEORGE LIPPARD.
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nine years ago, when, in an ancient farm
house, that rises along yonder shore, an old
man and his children had gathered aroune
their Christmas hearth. ,88 ai.g as5tt


It was lovely picture. a b


The old man, sitting there on the broad
hearth, in the full glow of the fame-his
dame, fine old natron by his side-his
children, a band Of red-lipped maidens
some with slender forms, Just trembling
on the verge Of girlhood- Others warm
ing and flushing into the summer morn Of
womanhood. And the warm glow of the
fire was upon the white locks Of the poor
old man, and on the mild face of his wife,
and the young bloom of those fair daugh-
ters. .ss.


Had you, on that dark night for i was
dark and cold-while the. December sky
gloomed above, and the sleet swept over
the hills Of the Delaware--have drawn
near that farmhouse window, and looked
in upon that Christmas hearth, and drank
in the full beauty of that scene, you
would confess with me, that though this
world has many beautiful much
Of the strangely beautiful in poetry
yet there, by that hearth, centered and
frightened and burned that poetry, which
is most like Heaven, the poetry Of Home !


You have all heard the story Of the con-
vict, who stood on the gallows imbrued in
crime-7steeped to, the lips in blood stood
there, mocking at the preacher's prayer
mocking even the hangman. When, sud
denly, as he stood with the rope about his
neck, his head sank---a single, burning
scalding tear rolled down his cheek.


81 was thinking said he, in broken
voice, 81 was thinking of the-Christmas
fire ~ E@glrf4)


". Yes, in that moment, when the preacher
failed TO warn, when even the hnngman
could not awe--a thought came over the
conyict's heart at that time, when father
and his children, in far land, gathered
around the Christmas fire. aa' "a"


That thought melted his iron soul.


el care not for your ropes and your giO-
BETS" he said "But now, in that far
land--there over the waters--my father,
my brothers, my sisters, are sitting around
their Christmas fire. They are waiting
for me. And am here--here upon the
scaffold!" ..'A .t


Is there not deep poetry in the scene
that could thus touch murderer's soul and
melt it to tears? .Il .a.aa !.


And now as the old man, his wife, his
daughters, clustered around their fire, tell
me, why does that old mans head droop
slowly down, his eyes fill his hands trem-
BILE?


All, there is one absent from the Christ
mas hearth. .s aa.....


He is thinking of his absent one--his
manly, brave boy, who has been gone from
the farm house for year.


But bark Even as the thought comes
over him, the silence Of that fireside is bro
ken by faint cry, a faint moan, heard over
the wastes of snow from alar.


The old man grasped lantern, and with
that young girl by his side, goes out upon
the dark night. -


Look there--as following the sound Of
that moan, they go softly over the frozen
path: how the lantern flashes over their
forms-over few white PAGES of frozen
snow-while beyond all is darkness!


Still that moan, so low, so faint, SO deep
toned, quivers on the air.


Something arrests the old mans eye
there in the snow-they bend down, he
and his daughter-and they gaze upon that
sight.


It is human footstep painted in the
snow-pained in human blood .,.


envy child" whispers the old man trem-
ulously, "Now pray to Heaven for Wash
ington. For by this footstep, stamped in
blood, Judge that his army is passing near
this place"


Still the moan quivers on the air.


Then the old man and that young girl,
following those footsteps stained in blood,
one, two, three, four---look how the red
tokens crimson the white snow--follow-
ing these bloody footprints; go on until
they reach that rock, beetling over the RI
yer shore.


There the lantern light flashes over the
form of a half-naked man, crouching
down in the snow-rfreezing and bleeding
to death. e g. 4s6sH 81


The old man looks upon that form clad
in the ragged uniform of the Continental