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Our Boys and Girls
TOMMIE'S QUERRIES ABOUT SANTA
* CLAUS.
Mamma, where does Santa Claus live?
And what does he do all the year.
While the fruits and birds and pretty flowers,
And the butterflies all are here?
Has he got some little girls and boys.
That run and romp like me?
And is he as fat and jolly and good,
As he looks in his pictures to be?
And, Mamma, when Christmas time comes around,'
Do they hang up their stockings for him
And think their papa will come down the fluo.
And fill them up to the brim?
Why don't he bring poor folks more things?
Oh, Mamma, I think its mean!
He never brought a single toy
To poor lame Johnny Green!
Say, Mamma, when I grew into a man,
Like Papa or Uncle Jerome,
Can't I go off and find the place
Where Santa Claus has his home?
?
And talk to him, Mamma, and tell him I think
It's very far from right,
The way he slights the poor girls and boys
When he comes on Christmas night!
? Lissie C. Farmer.
A CHRISTMAS CUBE.
Santa Clans sat by the fire in his own house,
looking very much troubled.
Santa Claus sat there thinking ? thinking.lt
was just before Christmas. What was the
matter with the good, jolly old Saint t Had
his sleigh broken downt Had any of his rein
deer got loose?
But no ? it was none of these things.
Couldn't he find toys enough to go round?
Bless your dear little anxious heart, don't you
be afraid of that! Santa Claus had toys
enough. That wasn't the trouble.
One stocking there was, for which Santa
Claus had not yet planned a single thing ; and
that was why poor dear old Santa Clans was
in such a state of worry and anxiety. This
stocking belonged to a little boy whose good
parents had long before Christmas sent in his
name to Santa piaus. But although there had
been plenty of time, and Santa Claus had put
plenty of thought upon the matter, he had not
yet been able to decide upon one thing for
that little boy's stocking.
Perhaps it seems strange to you that Santa
should be puzzled about such a thing as that,
when filling stockings is his regular profession ;
but the little boy to whom that stocking be
longed was a very strange and unusual child.
Whatever was given to him he would either
break to pieces very soon or do some naughty
mischief with it..
Yet kind old Santa could not bear to leave
even this stocking empty. So he had been
puzzling his brains to* find something with
which the little boy could not hurt people,
nnd something he could not break; and al
though he had been thinking over all his lists
of tovs and presents, nothing had he found yet.
"Chirp! Chirp!" sounded a sharp little voice.
"Yon may as well give it up. He doesn't de
serve anything, the little scamp!"
"Oh! Is that you Crickettt" said Santa.
"Come up here," and as he held out his fat
forefinger, a tiny black cricket reached It with
n sudden jump.
"You may as well give it up!" creaked the
cricket. "You can't think of anything, I
know."
"I know, I know," said Santa. "No, I can't
give up the donkey ! ? nor any other of those
fine little animals that we have this year. I
had thought of a nice little hammer and a
box of nails, and some blocks of wood for
him to hammer the nails into ! Hey, now !
what do you think of that?"
"What do I think?" said the cricket. "1
think, St. Nicholas, that you have forgotten
how the little boy beat his brother with his
drumsticks; how he snipped his sister's fingers
with the scissors ; how he threw his harmonicon
at the nurse; how he ? "
"Dear, dear, dear!" groaned Santa, "so he
did!"
"And if you keep giving him things when
he uses them so wrongly," continued the
cricket, "how will he ever learn better? To be
sure, mamma and papa and all his kind friends
are trying to teach him, and it is necessary
that everybody should help to train such :
boy as ? "
"I know," interrupted Santa. "I know.
You're a wise, little counsellor, and not as
hard-hearted as you s.^em. And if you think
it will cure the poor little fellow, I suppose
we must give him the sawdust this year."
"Yes," said the cricket solemnly, "sawdust
it must be."
Christmas morning came. The little boy,
whose name Santa Claus did not wish men
tioned, saw all the other children pull out one
treasure after another from their long, well
stuffed stockings, while in his own, which he
had hung up with so much hope the night be
fore, there was noting but sawdust!
If I should use all the sad words in the
English language, I could never tell you how
sad that little boy was as he poured the saw
dust out of his 'stocking, and found that Santa
Claus had really sent him nothing else.
It was almost a year later, just before Christ
mas, when Santa Claus again sat by his fire ?
thinking.
But this time he was in no trouble; no, in
deed, not he ! He was rounder, and rosier, and
jollier than ever before; and how he was smil
ing and chuckling to himself! His eyes
twinkled so, and were so very bright, that you
could almost have lit a candle at them. He
and the cricket had been planning all sorts of
ecstatic surprises for the stockings of the boy
to whom they had given sawdust the year be
fore; for, if you can believe it, the little boy
had been trying all the year to be careful
and gentle, and he was really quite changed.
"Sawdust is a grand thing," chirped the
cricket, leaping about in delight. ? St. Nicholas.
THE SOLDIER'S FLOWER.
It is difficult to connect the crimson flower
that brightens our homes at Christmas-tide
with the grim fortune of war. Nevertheless,
without this feature of our past history, the
Poinsettia may have blossomed unknown bv
our people for many long years.
It was discovered by Joel Roberts Poinsett,
who was sent to Mexico by this country as a
special minister in 1822. Mr. Poinsett was a
native of South Carolina. He was a man of
much learning and culture. He had prev
viously held official distinctions in foreign
countries and was offered a commission in the
Russian army by the Czar. In his later years
he served America as Secretary of War, but
at the close of his term chose studious re
tirement in his own home. His beautiful garden
in the South afforded him much pleasure. Driv
ing out from Greenville, South Carolina, his
home can still be seen, and there the tall poin
settia, graceful as a lily on its stem, sheds
its rich flame and bares its golden heart, an
emblem of courage and cheer for the holy
holiday. It typifies to perfection the name
given it by the Mexican people, "Flower of
the Holy Night." ? Progressive Teacher..
THE STORY.
She came to me begging a story.
My darling, with eyes so blue,
"Not of fairies or elfs or goblins,
But a story really true."
I paused a moment in fancy,
To wonder Just what is should be.
Some tale of my own happy childhood.
So merry and full of glee.
Or a wonderful picture of travel,
So many joys to unfold.
All painted in bright glowing colors,
For little blue eyes to behold.
But no, the wee maid has decided,
As she nestled still closer with joy,
She wanted the dearest of stories.
The one about God's litle boy.
So I told her of shepherds frightened.
While watching wee lambs in the night.
Of angels all singing so sweet
And the star that shone ever so bright.
Carefully guiding the wise men.
To where the dear baby lay
All cuddled up in the manger.
In the midst of the sweet smelling hay.
Then I told her of Mary the mother.
So proud of her dear little son.
And the wonderful message He gave us.
Peace and good will to each one.
As we rocked and talked in the twilight,
Her eyes became dreamy with sleep,
And with her head almost nodding she whisper^..
"I think Baby Jesus was sweet.
"And of all the stories you tell me.
The one that I do most enjoy.
The one I like over and over
Is the one about God's little boy."
A CHRISTMAS WISH.
I'm purty glad 'at I'm just me,
Buhcause I'd surely hate to be
A Twins. For then there's two of you.
Just think!* Soon as your bath Is through
They Just fill up th' tub an' then
They bathe an' dry you once again.
But when It comes to Christmas eve,
W'y. 'at's th* time 'at I buhlieve
I'd like to be a Twins, buhcause
01' fat an' jolly Santa Claus
Would haf to treat you double-nice
An* fill your stockin's for you twice. ?
When I look at our Christmas tree
I wisht there was anuther me;
I wisht I was two little boys,
So we could trade all of our toys
An' trade 'em all back, one by one,
An' have just twice as much o* fun.
But when it's Christmas dinner time
W'y, when they ast th' blessin*. I'm
A-thinkin' hard inside o' me
How mighty splendid It would be
If when 'at dinner time begins
I could be changed into a Twin*!
?Wilbur D. Nesbit.