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AS. 1SH ’ Ti , F ALL the pres ent* in the fw: world— The wealth of the Christmas cheer. All the stores of beautiful toys For dear little girls and Jolliest boys. All that ever were sung or told, Could Into a one big gift be rolled— All the holly and evergreen too¬ l'd bring the bundle to you, my dear. The whole of It straight to you. Selfish—to wish it all for one, The gathered beauty of all the year? Never, never:—for when It was done, What would you do. my dear? Ah, ahl how swiftly your thoughts would *0 Oat to the little ones far and near. Who never have seen and never can know The taste of holiday cheer. Think of the million wistful eyes That soon would brighten with glad sur¬ prise When I should bring It to you, my dear. To do a* you pleoned to da Woolly wee dogs and china kittens. AU the rackets and balls and bats, Baa. baa lambs and purring cats, Searlot mufflers and worsted mittens; All the dollies in all tho world. Bine-eyed, brown-eyed, frlr.r.lcd and curled: All the books with pictures, rhymes. Telling of merriest Christmas times — All the story of peace on earth, Coming to us with a Saviour's birth. Yea, I will bring it all to you. The crown of the closing year. And when the little beseeching hands Were held to you from lands and lands, Your bundle would melt so fast, so fast. That soon we should reach tbo very last 80 now, have I answered right, my dear. Oueaslng what you would do? —Sydney Day re. In Our Little Ones. <rcHRiSTms.y 'l A AST Christmas was the jolli est one I ever saw. I guess what makes think so is because it was such a food one to Aunt Mildred and Uncle ©Borg's—though ho was not my uncle • then— and they say if it hadn’t oeea for me they wouldn’t have had such a good Christmas. And I reckon If I hadn’t been so anxious to work and earn something, things never would have happened just as they did. My pa died when I was just a little fellow, and my Aunt Mildred earned nearly everything we had after that, teach Ing music, for my While ma was sick lived nearly all the time. my pa we had plenty, but everything he had was invested in a bank, and the bank failed noon after be died. People said that if he had lived the bank wouldn’t have failed; and they think the man that was In with him cheated my ma out of what oeght to have been hers. Pot the last three or four years I have been earning a nickel whenever I ooold by carrying parcels or running errands, or something of that sort; but last winter I just made up my mind that a great big boy eleven years old could do something harder than that; ao when a big snow fell a week or two before Christmas I started out to shovel far people. There was Mrs. Bran MB, living upon Fourth street, that had alwmya been mighty good about giving little jobs to do, and 1 went to her She let me shovel the snow off of all the walks few her, and paid me a good brought pt-iee for it; and overcoat then she of went Mr. out an mob's that she said he would not wear any more, though it was real ' food, all but the sleeves and the on on ige of it, and wanted to know If my i Mooeld notent It down for me. I could do It, for she had made of things forme out of pa’s old >, and 1 I needed an overcoat, too; Hph 1 hated toteke sock a thing from , and my face burned like Bet she offered it in such a nice , like she wes afraid of hurting my inn. aad her face looked like it W banting, too, eo I thought maybe Pi better take it, aad told her I would H if she would let me do some thing to pay for it—I didn’t feel like I eoaid take It for nothing, it see * W MISTLETOE. x. W # ! m : % ■ / V -y 1 nraeh like a beggar—and she told me all right, 1 might go down cellar and rick up the stove wood that bad been hauled and thrown in there, so i€ would not be so much in the way. I went and piled up the wood, and she wrapped up the coat in a big paper, so no one could see what it was—I thought that was nice of her—and I took it home with me. When I took it to ms and told her about it she cried a little, but she said I did right to take it, and she went nght to work rirvnintr ripping it it un p to make over for me. She was ripping away on it, when all at once she sai.i: “Why, Harry, here is a letter addressed to Mr. George Bronson, that has worked its way down out of the pocket lx tween the lining and the outside. You must go right back to -Mrs. Bronson and take the letter to her, and tell her how we found it.” We talked a little wore about itand then I hurried back with it, though it did not look as though it could be of much importance, for it seemed to have been written years ago, and didn’t look like a business letter, cither. It was in a woman’s handwriting, and nia and I both thought it looked a little like Aunt Mil¬ dred 's handwriting, only smaller. But I think all women's and girl’s handwriting looks a good deal alike. When 1 gave the let¬ ter to Mrs. Bronson she said George was her brother- In-law that used to board with them when they lived in Palmville, and she reckoned her hus¬ band must have put the letter in his pock¬ et and forgot to give it to his brother. She said, lor it must have been in there fta( four or five years, George Bronson left their house aud went off to some western city to practice law before tliey left Palmville, and that was over three years ago. She said she would send the letter to him and explain about it. The evening before Christ mus I was helping around in Mr. Puton’s store and didn't get home till about eight o’clock. I went up to the kitchen window and peeped in and saw that ma and Elsie— that’s my little sister —were In there, sol thought I'd go around to the little front room we called the parlor and get Aunt Mildred to help me hide the presents I had got for them, till the next morning. When I went in, there was a great big, tall man with his arms around Aunt Mildred, holding her fast, She gave a little sort of a scream and tried to get away from him when 1 came in, and I yelled out: “Burglars! Help!” and picked up the poker and ran at him: but Aunt Mildred said: “Stop, stop, Harry." Then he let her go, and she sort o’ laughed and blushed and said: “Harry, this la not a burglar, but a man that is going to be your uncle be fore long.” You see, it was this way: They got to be sweethearts five years ago when Aunt Mildred was at boarding school, and Mr. Bronson—Uncle George it is now—was ’tending law school in the same place. They wanted to marry, but grandpa said Aunt Mildred was too young to marry, but he let her corre spond with Uncle George after they both left school. But when Uncle George's brother forgot to give him that letter he waited and waited, and then he thought Aunt Mildred had quit writing to him and be went off out west. He had never told his folks say thing about having a sweetheart, and they didn't know what was the matter with him. His brother had taken the letter out of the oAoe and put it In his pocket with other letters, and when it slipped down out of sight he never thought of it again, Aunt Mildred was just like Uncle George; she thought he had quit writing to her, and she never said anything about him. Grandpa died about that time, and she came to live with us. and all the money she hsd was put into the bank with pa’s, and lost the same way. Well, yon see when Mrs. Bronson got hold of that letter she sent it to her brother-in-law—that’s Uncle George, you know—and told him how a boy named Harry Floyd had found it in her husband’s old coat; and when he got the letter he saw just how it all was, and as my name is Floyd, he thonght I most be some kin to Aunt Mildred; so be eame back here ss quick as he could and found out where we lived, and aad found Aunt Mildred hero. And that’s bow I happened to be the of Idas aad Aunt Mildred having a man y Christmas last year. Gaels George is a pretty sharp law¬ yer, I tell you, and be has brought sort of nit that oet of money, end he e m getting tt 8. White, la Good %■ ils*L 09R miW&Y &fPP‘t£MC m "^f e “ «**'*“* J* e ,l r.ew L f for nr rhrutm-m Chris-mo. ' 1 wear; j liave ni0te scarfs than can erer ror slipper*, let roe say. i do not care, Thousb a eood hook is never in the wny^ 1 more Tbave cigars to .-pare, y ivc me no fountain-pens -they make me swear: No knives before my tortured eyes display. Ah; preUy stclla overheard my plaint, And knowing well 1 loved her. blushing, said: • How very deep, it seems, is yoar despair. Your troubles, sure, would aggravate a saint, A nd M 1 think”—and here she bowed her ' lustmyself: takeme. There:” - j ug veyou so - Nathan M- Levy . In Judge. Hto Bewon. It was drawing near to a very inter esting season of the year. Willy was T- \ L>' -£v - f; 3l, KBhHv'* _ if# xm Fa vm 35 --. 9w f* r : - jfe ;f'W■ em s = n:St [pv V i I •sail ! mm i,i< t F [ I I I I I J j I I [ I S' I I I I | n.jV-I 'j I j ' | E^SnHggggi 5S1BH '.i • • J ,w iH jj ; 8BElj3 SsSSlfjPfHjl ■SSBgpl'Bgja 8lB rifc? i l v -4-^ V, «•," B Ugg >, 'i ** ».y 'trr~' ‘HIE03 1 - Ut: i" ■ ■ -. .\- > . f"*" IT ~ : b HIS ARM WAS AROUND AUNT MILDRED. getting ready for bed. His mother looked happy. "My dear, ” she said, “1 am glad to see that you do not hurry through your prayers as you used to.” “No, ma’um, "said Willy. “Christmas is week after next, - and I have a good many things to ask for.”—Inter Ocean. J s V< PAvw' 1 " “vVVnn -» - ’! ; •r. \ ” i m * t H 1 u J \ V ss. LA \ m" [F IT* W~M - (T CHRISTMAS MOBXlNe. Bobby—Come to breakfast, sister! Little Sister (with her new Christmas doll)— No, thank you, Bob; I hsd my breakfast yesterday morning!—Harper’s Bazar. Girt. The seow has drifted te The hoUy bod hsa dyed her eheek. Her eyes, Uk* stare on Christmas eve. Shins out with classes, coyly. There’s Is wreathe ef green nod heroes red; heetef elL I gladly There's mistletoe chore i» urn. “I don’t yon don’t let eat all my candy,” 1 * - r It rilled the Requirements. •George,” said Mrs. Cawker to her husband, "ttby did you ask Carrie what she wanted for a Christmas pres¬ ent, and when she replied that she wanted a sealskin sack, why did you go off and get her a cheap glove-but toner?” “Why, my dear,” replied Cawker, “the essential thing about a Christmas gift is that it shall be a complete surprise.”—Harper's Bazar. % Easy to Be Happy, Mrs. ,, Ne.vdoor ,, . - Aren . ,, t you always . worried haH to death when it comes to a Chnntm* P resent for * our husband/ Mrs. Sunshine—My. no. I buy my husband something I want for myself, aud he buys me something he wants for himself, and then we trade.—N. Y. Weekly. That Would Not Suit. “Let's be married on Christmas, dar¬ ling,” said the impetuous young lover after Miss Fosdick had said ves. “No, indeed!” replied the far-sighted young girl. “I’d lose one set of pres¬ ents.’—Judge. “Did you hang up your sock last night?” 'No. I hung up my overcoat yester¬ day to get the money for a present for my best girt.*'—Peck. « Aal “What art you going to give for ay Mrs. Wl V FOR THE BEST OF REASONS. A Philosophical Dissertation on “Why We KiM Under the Mistletoe.” ? There are some men who can develop a very light and/agreeable subject into a very heavy and disagreeable magazine article with an ease that implies little effort—except on the part of the reader. I was mov ed to this reflection by see¬ ing in an old number of an English periodical a ponderous explanation by some benighted Britisher of the rea¬ son: “Why We Kiss Under the Mistle toe.” Of course the explanation had noth¬ ing to do with the case. It had reference to the death of the chief, or king, of a primitive tribe and the saturnalian license of the interreg¬ num, and ingenious¬ ly supplied the two or three missing links necessary to con nect the mistletoe with these occur rentes. Ye gods and little fishes! Why should a man disturb the ashes of a primitive king to find a better reason than the one right be¬ fore his eyes. It is a wonder that some emi n e n t savant doesn't endeavor to make Dionysius of Halicar nassiis responsible for the ancient and hon¬ orable custom of call¬ ing on one's best girl seven nights in the week. When we discover a pair of bright eyes sparkling with saucy invitation, a soft cheek, crimson with a demurely unconscious blush, and ripe, red lips forming them selves into an acquies cent pout, we are not obliged to go poking around in savag e graveyards to find out “why we kiss under the mistletoe!” . W’e kiss under the mistletoe for the same reason that we kiss on the back-parlor sofa, in the swiftly gliding cutter, or un der the hall lamp, just as we are saying “Good night—’’ if we are sure that her isn't looking over the balusters. On this side of the water We hold prime¬ val precedents of lit¬ tle value. We prefer to hold living reali ties. We kiss without reference to Druid, Goth or Celt; to magna charta or the court of chancery. And when the merry Christmas bells ring crisply on the air we kiss the girls under 'he mistletoe, not, as may be meanly sug gested, because they expect it and we are too courteous to dis¬ appoint them, but simply and solely because we can't help it. could!—Harry And we wouldn't if wc Romaine, in Puck. Christmas Giving. You know, and I know, that to thou¬ sands of us Christmas has become a season of the year the coming of which we actually dread. Years a;: • our fore¬ fathers looked to it with delight. They thought of it months before. We do, too. only in a different spirit. Our main idea of the coming of Christmas nowa¬ days seems to be what it is going to cost us. Ohristmas-giving, once regu¬ lated by the heart, is in great danger of ix'ing very soon almost entirely regu¬ lated by the means—if it has not already reached that deplorable state. We have made an actual business of Christ mfl-s-gmng. Formerly it was consid¬ ered a pleasure to give; now we sit down ofTd think out our presents as a matter of duty. We have to give; we consider it an obligation to give so and-so a certain present at Christmas. Not that we want to do so; we simply feel that we must. “She will give me something, and. of course. I must give her something.” is the way we coldly calculate the matter. And then when we receive the present the first thought, in nine cases out of ten, is we have received as much as we gave. If we have not we feel pro¬ voked at our own generosity, and coolly make a mental conclusion that next year we will give less.—Ladies’ Home Journal- Economy. “Why don’t you propose to Miss Squires, if you like her so much?” “fm waiting for Christmas. Then, you see, I can make the engagement ring serve for a Christmas present.”— Chicago Record. May This Be 80! In this New Year Let every heart GodA higher comfort share! Climbing to ell the holier heights Shore Hiding dark hate beneath the wings of Lore! Aad in despite of storm sad stress sad strife, Li ring the larger sad the lorelier life! —Atlanta Constitution. Dix—If my wife asks you my brand of cigars between now and Christmas, tell her these, and say— Dealer—Yee. Dix—Don't charge her over a dollar a box; TO pay the balance. —Truth. A “lean » NEW VEAS.I88S. Wf-v. R «.• Hi. +H- *S-M" *»" ' SC Y DOOR stands open wide to¬ night. r In token of % Who twelve months parting guest, since, with keen delight, I welcomed to my homely nest He stands there now, wan. wasted, old, HU race quite run. his mission o’er. And when the midnight hour is tolled We part, to meet no more. He came to me In merry guise. With hopes and promises not few; -r Ah! who could look within those eyes And deem that they were all untrue? But expectations all have fled, The promises are broken, too. The hopes lie withered, crushed and dead-. Not one of all but proved untrue. And there he stands, decrepit, wan, Who came to me a merry elf; A few sands more he will he gone, And with him gone part of myself. So come and go the passing years That bear us to the silent sea. But bright with smiles or dim with tears. They come In love, dear Lord, from Thee. —Christian at Work, Sweet Bells of Chrlstmastlde. Christmas bells, chime out triumphant Over land and over seal Send your happy tidings floating On sweet waves of melody; Softly tell your tender story. O'er and o'er and o'er again, "Glory in the highest, glory. Peace on earth, good will to men." To some doubting, weary spirit. Bring a gentle, holy calm; May your notes, on hearts sore-wounded. Fall like consecrated balm. To some life's storm troubled waters May they whisper Peace, be still! And our sleeping souls awaken With a glad, exultant thrill. On your wings of music, sweet bells, Bear our thoughts to Him above. Teach our hearts to time their pulses To the rapl'rous psalm of love. Oh! ring out all strife and malice. With the story of His birth. Ring In Faith, and Hope, and Love, And peace on earth'. —Claudia Tharin, In Good Housekeeping. CHRISTMAS IN DABKTOWN. <2 m Parson Jackson—Ephrim, it says in de good book: “Thou shalt not steal.” Ephraim Johnson—I know that, sah, but I've been so lucky I thought I’d gib you one. lubs Parson Jackson—“The Lawd a cheerful giver.”—Judge. Christmas Time. I must own that all this f ussing's Rather trying on the nerves; For a week back I’ve been running To the cellar tor preserves. To the loft to bring the hams down, To the barn for eggs; you see AUour young folks are a-comlng Home to mother and to me. Pick is coming home from college. He has holidays Just now. He is going to be a preacher (He could never learn to plow); Lucy’s coming from the high school, Ben and Harry from the town. And we’ve made Eliza promise To bring all her children down. Mother's in a pesky fidget. And she's fretting all day long Lest with all her roasts and puddings Something may perhaps go wrong; But I Just keep on a humming An old-fashioned Christmas glee. For the yonng folks are all coming Home to mother and to me. —P. McArthur, in N. Y. Son. la or Are. Ah! Santa Claus, come in. come in, Yonr welcome Is beyond all measure. We re glad to have you come and stay. Your Christmas] } * pleasure. —Detroit Free Press. Enjoyed It. Dinwiddie—'.‘Did your children enjoy Christmas?” Larimer—“I should think they did. Had to call in two doctors. ” —Pittsburgh Chronicle Telegraph. Footprints in the Sends of Time. V C s': The Finny H YsS Y Tommy—Com on - - oat an’ play. - -