PHIL FINDS A FRIEND It was the evening before Christmas.

Until to-day the winter had been an open one, but about one o'clock in the afternoon the snow began to fall.
The flakes came thicker and faster, and it soon became evident that an old-fashioned snowstorm had set in.

By seven o'clock the snow lay a foot deep on the level, but in some places considerably deeper, for a brisk wind had piled it up in places.
In a handsome house, some rods back from the village street, lived Dr.
Drayton, a physician, whose skill was so well appreciated that he had already, though still in the prime of life, accumulated a handsome competence.
He sat this evening in his library, in dressing-gown and slippers, his wife nearby engaged in some needlework.
"I hope you won't be called out this evening, Joseph," said Mrs.
Drayton, as a gust of wind tattled the window panes.
"I echo that wish, my dear," said the doctor, looking up from the last number of the Atlantic Monthly.

"I find it much more comfortable here, reading Dr.Holmes' last article." "The snow must be quite deep." "It is.

I found my ride from the north village this afternoon bleak enough.