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STMAS, 18ffff94 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 or all the year? Never, never! —for when it was done, What would you do. my dear? Ah, ah: how swiftly your thoughts would go Out 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 as you pleased to do. Woolly wee dogs and china kittens. All the rackets and balls and bats, Baa, baa lambs and purring cats. Scarlet mufflers and worsted mittens: All the dollies in all the world. Blue-eyed, brown-eyed, frizzled 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. Yes, 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 the very last. So now, have I answered right, my dear. Guessing what you would do? —Sydney Dayre, in Our Little Ones. YW Happened w* jTHRISTrnS.V CbrlMoias me think so is because it was such a good one to Aunt Mildred and Uncle George —though he was not my uncle yet, then —and they say if it hadn't been 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 ma was sick nearly all the time. While my pa lived we had plenty, but everything he had was invested in a bank, and the bank failed f-oon after he 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 ought to have been hers. For the last three or four years I have been earning a nickel whenever I could 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; so when a big snow fell a week or two before Christmas I started out to shovel snow for people. There was Mrs. Bron son, living upon Fourth street, that had always been mighty good about giving me little jobs to do, and I went to her first. She let me shovel the snow off of all the walks for her, and paid me a good price for it; and then she went and brought out an overcoat of Mr. Bronson’s that she said he would not wear any more, though it was real good, all but on the sleeves and on the edge of it, and wanted to know if my ma could not cut it down for me. I knew ma could do it, for she had made lots of things for me out of pa's old clothes, and I needed an overcoat, too; but 1 hated to take such a thing from a stranger, and my face burned like fire. But she offered it in such a nice way, like she was afraid of hurting my feelings, and her face looked like it was burning, too, so I thought maybe I'd better take it, and told her I would take it if she would let me do some thing to pay for it —I didn't feel like I could take it for nothing, it seemed so UNDER THE MISTLETOE. ||f.. Me —"Did I but dare, what bliss were mine To press those lovely lips divine! Did I but dare!” She—" The stupid chump, to stand and stare As though his feet were planted there. The stupid chump!"—Judge. : much like a beggar—and she told me all right. I might go down cellar and rick up the stove wood that had been hauled and thrown in there, soil would not he so much in the way. 1 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 m:i and told her about it she cried a little, but she said I did right to take it. and she went right to work ripping it up to make over for me. She was ripping i away on it. when all at onee she said. “Why. Harry, here is a letter addressed to Mr. George Bronson, that has worked its way down out of the pocket be tween the lining and the outside. You must go right hack to Mrs. Bronson and take the letter to her. and tell her how we found it. W e talked a little more about it and then I hurried back with it, though it did not look as though it could be of much importance, for it seemed to have j been written years ago, and didn't look like a business letter, either. It was in a woman's handwriting, and ma 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 hand writing 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, for it must have been in there for four or five years, George Bronson left their house and went off to some western city to practice law before they 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 mas I was helping around in Mr. Patou s store and didn't get home till about eight o'clock. 1 went up to the kitchen window and peeped in and saw that ma and Elsie— that's my little sister —were in there, so 1 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 1 went in. there was a great big. tall mail with liis arms around Aunt Mildred, holding her fast. She gave a little sort of a scream and tried to get away from him when I 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 is 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 31 r. 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 3111 dred had quit writing to him and he went off out west. lie had never told his folks any thing about having a sweetheart, and they didn't know what was the matter with him. Ilis brother had taken the letter out of the office and put it in his pocket with other letters, and when it slipped down out of sight he never thought of it again. Aunt 31ildred 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 had was put into the bank with pa's, and lost the same way. Well, you see when 31rs. 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 thought I must be some kin to Aunt 3lildred; so he came back here as quick as he could j and found out where we lived, and | came and found Aunt Mildred here. And that's how I happened to be the cause of him and Aunt 3lildred having such a merry Christmas last j r ear. Uncle George is a pretty sharp law yer, I tell you, and he has brought ' some sort of suit against the man that cheated us out of our money, and he thinks he is pretty sure of getting it back for us.—3lartha S. 3Yhite, in Good Housekeeping. The Dear Girls. 31iss 3lunn—How closely 31iss Elder sticks to that mistletoe. 3liss Flypp—Yes, it's her only chance, poor thing.—Detroit Free Press. Iler Gift. “Pray, give me something new for Christmas day. I have more scarfs than I can ever wear: For slippers, let me say. i do not care. Though a good book is never in the way 1 have no time for reading. Give me, pray, No mord cigars, lhave cigars to spare. (Jive me no fountain-pens the.\ make me swear: No knives before my tortured eyes display. ’ An: pretty Stella overheard my plaint. And knowing well 1 loved her, blushing, said: •• How very deep, it seems, is your despair. Your troubles, sure, would aggravate a saint. Ar.d so I think”—and here she bowed her head— I'll give you justmyself: so take me. There'” Nathan M. Levy, in Judge. Hie Reason. It was drawing near to a very inter esting season of the year. Willy was HIS ARM WAS AROUND AUNT MILDRED. getting -ready for bed. His mother looked happy. "My dear, ” she said, “I am glad to see that you do not hurry through your prayers as you used to.” “No, ma'am," said Willy. “Christmas is week after next,' and I have a good many things to ask for.” —Inter Ocean. CHRISTMAS MORNING. Bobby—Come to breakfast, sister! Little Sister (with her new Christmas doll) —No, thank you, Bob; I had my breakfast yesterday morning!—Harper’s Bazar The Christmas Girl. The snow has drifted to her brow, The holly bud has dyed her cheek, Her eyes, like stars on Christmas eve. Shine out with glances, coyly, meek. There’s Christmas radiance everywhere In wreaths of green and berrie’s red; But, best of all, I gladly note There's mistletoe above her head. —Lurana W. Sheldon, in Life. Wally Reasons. “I don't see why you don't let me eat all my candy,” whined Wally on Christ mas morning. “It didn't hurt my stockin' to be full of it, and I'm big ger than it.”—Harper's Young People. gut i WUUM 1 WPPtMMEMT*' ft Filled the Requirements. "George,” said Mrs. C’awker to her husband, "why 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-hut toner?” "Why. my dear,’’ replied Cawlur, "the essential thing about a Christmas gift is that it shall be a complete surprise.”—Harper's Bazar. Euny to Ho Happy. Mrs. Nexdoor Aren't you always worried half to death when it comes to buying a Christinas present for your husband? Mrs. Sunshine My. no! I buy my husband something I want for myself. and he buys me something he wants for himself, and then we trade. —N. Y. Weekly. Tlr.it Would Not Suit. “Let's be married on Christmas, dar ling," said the impetuous young lover after Miss Fosdiek had said yes. “No. indeed!” replied the far-sighted young girl. “I'd lose one set of pres ents." —Judge. Another Garment Hung. “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 girl.” —Puck. An Unfeeling Man. "What are you going to give me for my Chrstmas present?” asked 3lrs. Cumso of her husband. “About fifty dollars to pay for mine,” replied the wretch. —Judge. FOR THE BEST OF REASONS. A Philosophical Dissertation on “Why We tviss 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 moved 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 nee ess ar y toe on nect the mistletoe with these occur rences. 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. 11 is a wonder that some emi n e n t savant doesn't endeavor to make Dionysius of Halicar nassus 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 sav ag e graveyards to find out “why we kiss under the mistletoe!” We kiss under the mistletoe for the .same reason that we loss on the back-parlor sofa, in the swiftly gliding cutter, o- un der the hall lamp, just as we are saying “Good night—” if we arc sure that her mother isn’t looking over the balusters. On this side of the water we hold prime val precedents of lit de value. We prefer to hold living reali ties. We kiss without Reference to Druid, Goth or Celt; to magna eliarta or the court of chancery. And when the merry Christmas bells ring crisply on the air we kiss the girls under the mistletoe, not, as may be meanly sug gested, because they expect it and we are too courteous to dis- appoint them, bu t simply and solely because we can't help it. And we wouldn't if we could!—Harry 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 ago our fore fathers locked 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. Christinas-giving, once regu lated by tiie heart, is in great danger of being 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 mas-giving. Formerly it was consid ered a pleasure to give; now we sit down and 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 eases out of ten, is whether 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 31iss Squires, if you like her so much?” “I'm waiting for Christmas. Then, you see, I can make the engagement ring serve for a Christmas present.”— Chicago Record. May This Kc So! In this New Year Let every heart God's higher comfort share! Climbing to all the holier heights above— Hiding dark hate beneath the wings of Love! And in despite of storm and stress and strife, Living the larger and the lovelier life! —Atlanta Constitution. Guile. Dix—lf my wife asks you my brand of cigars between now and Christmas, tell her these, and say — Dealer—Yes. Dix—Don't charge her over a dollar a box; I'll pay the balance.—Truth. A Timely Question. “I can understand how Santa Claus comes down the chimney,” remarked Edgar, “but I wonder how he goes vp.” —Harper's Young People. NEW YEAJ3.IB9& Who twelve months since, with lieen delight, I welcomed to my homely nest. He stands there now, wan, wasted, old, His 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; Ah! wl;o 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 hear 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 Christmastide. Christmas bells, chime out triumphant Over land and over sea! 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, he 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 rapfrous psalm of love. Oh! ring out all strife and malice, With the story of His birth. King in Faith, and Hope, and Love, And peace on earth! —Claudia Tharin, in Good Housekeeping. CHRISTMAS IN DARK TOWN. Parson Jackson —Ephrim, it says in de good book: “Thou shalt not steal.” Ephraim Johnson —I know that, sah, hut I've been so lucky I thought I'd gib you one. Parson Jackson—“ The Lawd lubs a cheerful giver.”—Judge. Christmas Time. I must own that all this fussing's Rather trying on the nerves: For a week back I’ve been running To the cellar for preserves, To the loft to bring the hams down, To the barn for eggs; you see All our young folks are a-comiug Home to mother and to me. Dick 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 young folks are all coming Home to mother and to me. —P. McArthur, in N. Y. Sun. Is or Are. Ah! Santa Claus, come in, come in, Your welcome is beyond all measure. We're glad to have you come and stay. Your Christmas -J f “ Pleasure. —Detroit Free Press. Enjoyed It. Dinwiddie—“Did your children enjoy Christinas?” Larimer —“I should think they did. Had to call in two doctors.” —Pittsburg-h Chronicle Telegraph. Footprints in the Sands of Time* —Exchange. The Festivity Not Vet Complete. Tommy—Come on out an’ play. Eddy—l can’t. Tommy—Why not? Eddy—l got some Christinas things wot I ain't broke yet.—Chicago Record.