Democratic Sentinel, Volume 19, Number 50, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 December 1895 — Page 6

THE CHILDREN'S BEST FRIEND

SANTA CLAUS is the children's friend. Who he was we have little means of knowing. Authentic history is almost silent on the subject, merely stating that he was the Bishop of Myra, in Lycia, and died about the year 326. Tradition has woven many a pretty tale about him, and one runs that he appeared in the night time and secretly made valuable presents to the children of the household. What manner of person St. Nicholas was, seems subject to variation, according to the time, place or manner of regarding him. Medieval painters represent him as slender, and clad in full episcopal robes with miter and crozier. Modern painters and storytellers in England, Germany and America, give us a jovial, rubicund type of a man, with none of the features of the cleric. Kris Kringle is regarded as an alternative name for Santa Claus, but he is a totally different being. Kris Kr>rg’e is simply a corruption of tke German word "Christ Kiudlein," or Christ Child. Christmas is children’s da.y; it In the day when, as Dickens says, we should remember the time when its great founder was a child himself. It is especially the day for the friendless young, the children in hospitals, the lame, the sick, the weary, the blind. No child should be left alone on Christinas day.for loneliness with children means brooding. A child growing up with no child friend is not a child at all, but a premature man or woman. The best Christmas present to a boy is a box of tools, the best to a girl any number of dolls. When thev get older ami can write letters a postoflice is a delightful boon. These are to be bought, but they tire far niof%> amusing if made at home. Any good-sized cardboard box will do for this purpose. T’he lid should be fastened to it so that when it stands up it will open like a door. A slit must be cut out about an inch wide and from five to six inches long, so as to allow the postage of small parcels, yet not large enough even to admit the smallest hand. Children should learn to respect the inviolate character .of the post from the earliest age. Capital scrapbooks can be made by children. Old railway guides may be the foundation and every illustrated paper a magazine of art. A paste box, next to a paint box. is a most serviceable toy. Hobby horses are profitable steeds and can be made to' go through any amount of paces. But mechanical toys are more amusing to his elders than to the child, who wishes to do his own mechanism, A boy can be amused by turning him out of the house, giving him a ball or a kite, or letting him dig in the ground for the unhappy mole. Little girls, who must be kept in on a rainj’ day, or invalid children, are very hard to amuse, and recourse must be had to story telling, to the dear, delightful thousand and one books now written for children, of which “Alice in Wonderland” is the flower of perfection.

BEGINNING at Benton City, on the Union Pacific Road, the telegraph line stretches to the north, leaps across to the Laramie mountains, and at a point opposite the great mass of earth and rock and tree, called Red Butte, it comes to a sudden stop. From this point to the fort, a distance of twen-ty-five miles, is the roughest portion of the way, and the skulking bands of Indians make it the most dangerous. At the terminus of the line is a rude shanty and a soldier operator. Close by the shanty are tents of the soldiers, who are setting the poles and pushing the line along until the fort shall have electric communication with the outside world. It is December now —only two days to Christmas. There have been cold rains, snow storms, severe weather, and the soldiers are wondering why they have not been ordered back to the fort for the winter, when a mounted messenger arrives over the trail bearing the expected order. The Colonel’s wife has gone East. The operator is to wire her to remain where she is until spring. When her answer is received the shanty is to be closed up, camp broken, and the party headed for the fort. The afternoon wears away, the night’comes down, and some of the soldiers are asleep, when Benton City sends in its call, and followiHtby~a telegram reading: “The Colonel’s wife Started West four days ago, and ought to bp there or at the fort now.” Next morning there was an arrival from the South. The Colonel’s wife, riding a horse with a blanket for a saddle, dismounted at the front of the shanty’, and opened the door with a cheery “Howdy do, boys!” to the operator anil the Sergeant. As both men stood at “attention,” she removed the hood and cloak which enveloped her, shook off the snow, and said to the Sergeant: “I came through with hardly an hour’s rest, and I’m hungry as a wolf. Tell some of the men to cook something. I’ll give the Colonel a surprise.” Everybody hustled and bustled, and an hour later camp was broken, and twelve people headed for the north, the strongest man breaking the way, and the Col•nej’s wife bringing up the -rear, with a kind word and a smile for every soldier. The trail led up a narrow valley, and the wild gale had drifted the snow }ipfi| the line had to move forward at a snail’s pace. At nightfall they had made just half the distance to the fort. In a.thieket all ate together. Said the Sergeant, as in vain for the stars: “I saw Injun signs back by the creek.” “I see that you have revolvers as well aa muskets," remarked the Colonel’s wife. “Please give me one and extra ammunition. PH try and not be a burden to you,

As the gale came sweeping down the valley and roaring around the mountain base, there were wild war whoops and the crack of rifles. In the darkness a score of Indians had crept close-upon the camp. Both sentries were shot dead. "It’s only Injuns, boys; only Injuns!"

“THEY WON'T TAKE ME PRISONER.”

shouted the Sergeant, and he fired his first shot. “Now, then, push out.” They had not moved ten rods before a rifle cracked and one of the men pitched forward, shot through the heart. A minute later two more bullets whistled over the men’s heads. Then the little band was hidden from sight of the Indian sentinels by the blinding whirl of snow. “They're after us, ma'am," said the Sergeant. “They won’t take me prisoner,” whispered the Colonel’s wife, as she held out the revolver. “That’s right, ma'am. We ate headed for the fort right enough, and maybe the red fiends will haul Vs after a bit and let us go in peace. A i\erry Christmas to you, though I’ve seenSmerrier ones in my time.” For a mile or more the little party breasted the storm. Then came a sudden shot, and the rear guard went down. There were seven men and a woman at S o'clock. At !) o'clock there were but five men, at 10 but’,four, at midnight only two. Two men woman—the Sergeant, the soldier-operator, and the Colonel’s wife. The others had been picked off one by one, and the Indians still followed. Now and then the trio halted, knelt down, and .peering into the snow-whirl, opened a fusillade which checked pursuit if it did, not wound or kill. e ”

Instinct must have ■'g'fudbd them in that storm— Providence must have shielded them from the bullets.cbut the storm •continued to rage and the vengeful foe to pursue, till the report of the firearms reached the t'tfrs of the sentinel at the fort. No one had yet learned what was happening, when three figures staggered up to the gate, and on into the fort, and up to the door of the Colonel’s headquarters. Two of the figures held up a third between them. As he peered in the Sergeant saluted and said: “Col. Dawson, I report myself, and I bring you a Christmas present.” And as the Colonel uttered a shout of surprise and rushed forward with outstretched arms, the brave little woman fell into them, and the two men sank down in their tracks, and those who lifted them up wet their fingers with the blood of heroes. A handsome merry-faced woman, who is five years older—a Sergeant of infantry who limps a bit—a lone grave in which sleeps the soldier-operator—nothing more to be seen. The Colonel’s wife may tell you the story—the Sergeant couldn’t be coaxed to, but he can’t conceal the limp,

“BOTH MEN STOOD AT ATTENTION.”

and is proud of the extra stripes he has worn on his sleeves ever since that Christmas day.

He Was Surprised.

Mrs. Gazzam —I’ve got a box of cigars for my husband’s Christmas present, which will surprise him. Mrs. Maddox —Women don’t know how to buy cigars for men. Mrs. Gazzam—l know thfit, so I got Brother Jack to get them ’for me.— Judge. Sregffg

INDOOR CHRISTMAS GAMES.

How the Young Folks May Find Pleasure if the Day Be Stormy, Parlor games like chess, draughts, dominoes, etc., are too heavy for Christmas. The boys and birls want more rollicking, hip-hip-hurrah games. A committee appointed to provide desirable amusement for a well-known charity in New York selected the following program. Ten hours were spent in selecting appropriate indoor games and pastimes, and even then no more than were actually needed were decided upon, says the New York Mail and Express. If the children can get out of doors their amusement is easy, for baseball, leap frog, hide and seek, and other games suffice, but indoors something akin to these games is wanted. In this class is a game known as "The Country Circus.” It consists in making riders, tumblers, clowns, strong men, etc., of all the children and with this improvised company giving a performance. Another good game for the house is called “Jack-of-All-Trades,” in which those engaged must perform some work in the particular trade to which they are assigned by the foreman. In this game on Thanksgiving the boys and girls of an institution in Jersey cut and sewed a lot of carpet rags, made a lote of brushes, and split and bundled several cords of wood. “The Boy Hunters,” in which the children learn the name, habits, and peculiarities of the entire animal kingdom, is another good game, and “Robinson Crusoe” one of the same kind and value. All these games are active ones, require constant movement, and are meant only for the daylight. For the evening, games less boisterous must be chosen. In this class are “Anagrams,” “Authors,” “History of Our Times,” and shadow pantomimes. The last named, however, are the most popular and enjoyable and have so increased in favor that books written especially to show how to prepare and perform them can be had at any well-stocked book store.

A Financial Transaction.

“Say, mister,” said a boy who had just overtaken a market wagon after pursuing it for four or five" blocks, “do you wanter know who hit you in the neck with that hard snowball?” "You bet I do,” replied the man, slackening speed. “Will ye gimme a quarter es I ketch him and bring him here?” "Yep.” “Gimme 50 cents?” “Yes,” said the driver, lifting his whip from the socket; “but I don't give you any more’n that.” “Well, git the money ready.” “You haven’t got the boy that threw the snowball yet.” "Yes, I have. That boy is me. Dad’s sick, and me mother can’t get work. The twins is too little ter earn anything, an’ if I don't hustle there won't be any Christmas tree at our house.. I'll take a lickin’ any day fur 50 cents.” “Sonny.” said the market man. in a voice that was remarkably husky, “here’s

yer 50 cents. I’m in a hurry now —you needn’t bother about deliverin’ the goods. We’ll call it square.”—Washington Star.

The Boarding-House Turkey.

"Is the fuse laid?” inquired rhe landlady of the head waiter. "It is, madame.” "Then tire it.” "I have, madame.” “But the turkey is still whole.” “Yes, the powder had no effect on it.” “Then send for some dynamite, and

tell the boarders the turkey is so tender it takes time to carve it.

His Reason.

It was drawing near to a very interesting'season of the year. Willy was 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 do.” “No, ma’am,” said Willy; “Christmas is week after next, and I have a good many things to ask for.”

Y®l Come, old year, ’tis time to go. Age, perhaps, has made you slow. But your time of rule has flown And I come to claim my own. You are popular no more, All your triumphs here are gone, With what strength is left to you. Had you better hasten on. Learning from experience. I have promised much, like you. When another year has flown People will condemn me, too. But what matters that to us? Years, like men, must come and go. We are fast with promises, With fulfillments we are slow.

I never like a Christmas season to pass without telling a thrilling incident which happened at my house just eleven years ago this coming Christmas, writes Dr. Talmage. We had just distributed the family presents Christmas morning when I heard a great cry of distress in the hallway. A child from a neighbor’s house came in to say her father was dead. It was only three doors off, and, I think, in two minutes we were there. There lay the old Christian sea captain, his face upturned toward the window as though he had suddenly seen the headlands, and with an illuminated countenance as though he were just going into harbor. The fact was he had already got through the “Narrows.” In the adjoining room were the Christmas presents waiting for his distribution. Long ago, one night when he had narrowly escaped with his ship from being run down by a great ocean steamer, he had made his peace with God, and a kiuder neighbor than Capt. Pendleton you would not find this side of heaven. He had often talked to me of the goodness of God, and especially of a time when he was about to go into New York harbor with his ship from Liverpool, and he was suddenly impressed that he ought to put back to sea. Under the protest of

VOICES OF THE BELLS

t° tKe . Wkile aII {he world ig pra-ving; iKeyAre bcAlmg, Swelling. t elliKg, j\\ nr\d K.KIS ig wh&t tke bell<j are paying: v We are lite of /edag Artd We are tke of brocket And fn-iegt’ tkc lifc>3 eHke gibijant sleeper#, Wko dreft.rn.ed of a *ta.r in tke|>«ii>le kaXrd bv tke of the morn J AjA When the wAg born.. _ We Are the |> r y er <s ®f the WAttdering Macji, ' All'lei/el And lone-, We Are fRe ofjudeAn -, x <> We Are the fkat- front HeAi/en were blown. I from the golden throat of hertvAU / > When the We Are tke te&rdropg, of dnef Ajd of V\ We Are tke ech©e< ©f YeXter<|A/ ( J f>Ak; \ We Arc fke JubnAnt vei(e of tjinarrowq. He-, PeA(e on tkrth-, let ntv good will reign (2)0 our lif^ on morn./ the

the crew and under their very threat he put back to sea, learning at the same time he was losing his mind, for it did seem so unreasonable that when they could get into harbor that night they should put back to sea. But they put back to sea, and Capt. Pendleton said to his mate: “You call me at 10 o’clock at night.” At 12 o’clock at night the Captain was aroused and said: “What does this mean? I thought I told you to call me at 10 o’clock, and here it is 12.” “Why,” said the mate, “I did call you at 10 o’clock, and you got up, looked around and told me to keep right on this same course for two hours, and then to call you at 12 o’clock.” Said the Captain: “Is it possible? I have no remembrance of that.” At 12 o’clock the captain went on deck, and through the rift of the cloud the moonlight fell upon the sea and showed him a shipwreck with one hundred struggling passengers. He helped them off. Had he beep any earlier or any iater at that point- oi the sea he would have beeatof no service to those drowning people. On board the captain’s vessel, they began to band together as to what they should pay for the rescue, and whirr they should pay for the provisions. “Ah',” says the captain, “my lads, you can’t pay me anything; all I have on board is yours; I feel to® greatly honored of God in having saved you to take any pay.” Just like him. Oh, that the old sea captain’s God. might be my God and yours. Amid the stormy seas of this life may we have always some one as tenderly to take care of us as the captain took care of the drowning crew and the passengers. And may we come into the harbor with as little physical pain and with as bright a hope as he had; and if it should happen to be a Christmas morning, when the presents are being distributed and we are celebrating the birth of Him who came to save our shipwrecked world, all the better, for what grander, brighter Christmas present could we have than heaven ? Now comes the glad New Year; Though fate may do her worst, She cannot blot that legend clear: “All bills due on the first!” —Atlanta Constitution. “You haven’t got $5 about you, Jones?” “No, I haven’t. Wife borrowed the last to buy my Christmas present”—Atlanta Constitution.

Told by Talmage.

BY TOM A CAMMOM.

THE CHRISTMAS TREE STATE.

Great Demand la Annually Made On the Forests ot Maine. Not all who desire a Christmas-tree for the holiday merrymakings can sally forth, armed with a hatchet, and hew from their own acres. Therefore at each Christmas season great demand is made on the forests of Maine for yonng spruces. No tree but an evergreen will do, and no evergreen but the spruee presents the delicate, feather - flat, clean - limbed branches of dark perennial shade, which throw out by contrast the brightness of the suspended presents and favors. On Sunday, the fifth of December, 1891, ten car-loads of Christmas trees for New York were detained in the Portland yard because they were loaded so that it was Impossible to work the brakes. This objection was overruled, and the sweetsmelling freight was allowed to proceed to its destination. How the cars were loaded can easily be described, but the fragrance of twenty-five thousand freshly cut evergreen trees must be left to the reader's imagination. The ten cars, all “flats,” or platform cars, were each thirty-four feet long, loaded eight feet high, and all came from .the small station of Wiscasset, which lies at the head of one of the numerous bays on the coast of Maine. At regular intervals about each car, four on each side and two at each end, ( were stout spruce stakes, originally Christinas trees which might have done jduty at the Castle De Blunderbore. These rose to the top of the load, which was lim‘ifetjlp a height that would clear all overhead bridges on the road. .In .this space the trees were packed jlefcttiwise, butts to the front and rear [tops to the center, so compactly that the loaded car was one solid block of green. ,Each car held about twenty-five hundred (trees, large and small, tied in bundles of (four. From six hundred and fifty to [seven hundred bundles were packed in a par, so that the ten car-load lot contained twenty-five thousand trees at least. The marketing of Christmas trees is a Maine specialty. Every year speculators purchase the right to cut trees from the land owners, paying half a cent, one cent, pnd two cents apiece for trees from eight to twelve years old on the stump. Then the natives are hired to cut and bring them to the shipping point, where they cost the speculator from ten to twelve cents each, loaded on the car. He pays also for their shipment to New Vork—sixty-seven dollars per car, or about two and one-half cents per tree. The trees retail in New York for from one to five dollars each, according to their size. The same quality of tree can be purchased on the street, in the city of Portland, at from twenty-five to fifty cents each, while in other parts of the State boys who wish for Christmas trees sally forth and cut them for themselves. —Youths’ Companion.

A Christmas Church Idea.

If the platform of a church or Sunday school room be deep enough to admit of it an artistic Christmas arch can easily be made by an amateur carpenter, writes Florence Wilson, in the Ladies’ Home Journal. The upper part should have wires stretched across, to which may be fastened small hemlock boughs, thus forming a solid mass of green. The framework should, of course, be wound with evergreen, the whole placed about two feet from the wall, so that behind it may be hung the Christmas bells of ;-ed and yellow immortelles at different lengths by ropes of evergreen. These pells may be made to hang at different pngles by using fine picture wire. Let each bell be worded, so that they may peem to ring out their own song of “Glory to God in the highest.” For a Sunday school festival, a postpffice where each child upon inquiring might find an envelop addressed and pealed, containing a pretty Christmas card, is a unique feature. Then there is the huge snowball made of cotton, besprinkled with diamond dust and filled with gifts for the infant class, whjch may be rolled through the window with an appropriate letter from Santa Claus.

A Race Track Fiend Cured.

The following story is told by one who for years was an inveterate better on horses: “It was Christmas eve. My 4-year-ald stood by my knee in his ‘nighty’ just before being tucked in his crib, and in his infantile manner was praying to Santa Claus to bring him the treasure upon which he had fixed his heart. When he had finished I asked the master of the house what should old Santa Claus bring papa? He bowed his little head on my knee again and innocently pleaded: ‘And, dear Santa Claus, please bring papa a race horse that can win sometimes.’ That was his mother’s work, I suppose, but it went. I bought a tree that night, loaded it down with toys the boy had asked for. And then trimmed it with the tickets that hadn’t won in the races. The unique festooning represented hundreds of hard dollars that had been scattered in the wake of a race-track ‘skate.’ I have not played a horse since that time, and I have made up my mind that I never will again. It's a delusion and a snare.”

Johnny’s Woe.

Curly headed Johnny had a tear drop In his eye. Curly-headed Johnny couldn't speak without Ilona sigh. And the Christmas preparations that were ’round him everywhere Had not the least effect upon his melancholy air. *T»h, what’s the use of hanging up my stocking,” he would say; “There's nothing to look forward to for me on Christmas Day; He’ll scratch us off his program when he hitches up his team, For Santy needs a fireplace, and they heat our flat by steam.” —Washington Star.

Her Heart's Desire.

There comes a time once in every year, when children may without impropriety give their loving friends a hint in season. ' Uncle William was talking with Lucy, his best little niece, about Christmas. He wished to know her mind upon a certain highly interesting object, but preferred to get at it indirectly. “Now, Lucy,” said he, in a casual manner, “if I were going to buy a doll for a little girl, what kind of a one do you 'think she would like?” “O, Uncle William,” answered Lucy, with undisguised interest, “there is nothing like twins!”

Nothing Slow About Johnnie.

Tommy—Did yer have a good time Christmas, Johnnie? Johnnie—Don’t yer see dat I did? -Life.

Christmas in the Past.

Christmas, as the American boy or girl 1 now knows it, has not been thus always. I The father of the boy or girl of to-day ; can well remember. If he has reached the age of forty or upward, a time when this , splendid festival had practically no exi istence for him. In certain parts ci the i country, indeed, Christmas has never been I forgotten. In New York City, In Pennsyl- [ vania. and in the South generally, Christmas, as well as Easter, has always been observed. In New England, however, in many of the rural parts of New York, and in portions of the country which were settled from New England and from rural New York. Christmas was, forty years ago, but a name. Some trace of it seemed to have survived in the occasional practice of hanging up the stocking on Christmas eve. Boys and girls often hung their stockings by the fireplace, and in the morning, if they were fortunate, there was in each stocking a store of nuts, a little candy, and perhaps a jack-knife or a thimble. But next day—Christmas day—the boys and girls went to school as usual, and fathers and mothers went about their usual tasks. There was no holiday and no big Christmas dinner. The one feast of the year had been eaten at Thanksgiving. The mince-pies accumulated for that festival were still making their appearance upon the family table: and the pies, and the memory of all the other good things and sports of Thanksgiving, had to serve the children of that period, as far as holidays were concerned, until Fast Day came round again. In most of the States, indeed, the children had not even Fast Day to look forward to. There was no real holiday until the Fourth of July. For them there were practically but two holidays in the year. The recollections of Christmas which a person of fifty should undertake to relate tp his children would be very mueh like the celebrated chapter about the snakes in Ireland, which simply stated that there were no snakes in Ireland. He might, however, have a vivid recollection of a rather lonesome ten minutes spent in hanging a woollen stocking by a fireplace, during which time his parents sat solemnly by. looking as if they did not altogether approve what he was doing. The joy with which he might anticipate a possible gift was tempered not a little by the remembrance of one Christmas morning when he arose eagerly, searched his stocking, and found nothing whatever in it. Very soon, however, the real Christmas began to grow up, as it were. The most powerful agency in making its observance general was the Sunday school. Always on the lookout for something with which to arouse the interest of children, the Sunday school of thirty years ago early made choice of Christmas. “Trees” were introduced as a feature of an annual observance. and many little gifts were distributed. It was customary to have the passages in the Gospel relating to the birth of Christ read aloud by one of the pupils of the Sunday school who could read well, and this office was greiAy coveted. The chance of being selected to read these passages aloud at Christmas was a sufficient incentive to many pupils to pay particular attention to their reading lessons at school for months together. The interest of the children in these exercises was very great from the start, and it soon drew the older people into an almost equal interest in the revival of the old festival. In a surprisingly short time Christmas had become the most important day in the year.

As in the Olden Time.

I saw an old. old man, and an old. old woman walking arm in arm on the street tile other day, and by and by they turned into a toy store and began making purchases as eagerly as other people of half their years. "You buy for your grand-children?” I whispered. “No; for our own,” replied the woman. “But you are so old that your children must be men and women grown.” “Ah! but they are not. The eldest is not yet 12 years of age, and we have four.” She had tears in her eyes as she answered me. and by and by she continued: “They are dead —all dead! Once there was but one stocking for Santa Claus to fill, and but one curly head to creep from his trundle bed at break of day and shout with gladness over the gifts bestowed. By and by there was a second —then a third —then four stockings hung in a row at Christmas time, and four children blessed me good-night, and said: “ ‘lf Santa Claus comes before you go to bed, tell him we have been good children.’ ” “But they are now dead.” “Yes —all dead. One week took them all from us —one grave holds them all. But on Christmas Eve four stockings will hang in a row again, and Santa Claus will come as of old. Every Christmas Eve since their voices were hushed in death the four stockings have been hung up. There are no glad voices—no soft kisses —no tender good-nights. Those have been unheard for almost a score of years. Father and I sit there and listen for footsteps, but'they do not come. We hearken to voices which can never speak again. Our hearts are heavy and our eyes full of tears, but before we sleep we fill the stockings as of old, and it seems as if the children come back from heaven for that one night. ■ “And so,” she said, as the tears came faster, “we buy for this Christmas Eve, and we shall sit down and call our children about us as in the olden time, and it will keep our hearts tender and help us to bear the burden of many years.”

Keeping Christmas Wisely.

Thoughtfiilpeople have discovered that we are in danger of losing our Christmas by doing it th death. It may die of surfeit, as well as a pet, or a love. The maddiig crowd making itself maniac across the impassable streets, choking the writhing shops, stalling the railway trains, blocking the United States mails, and choking, stalling, blocking, and madding more madly every year than it did the year before, does not necessarily mean the growth of the Christmas sense, but is quite as likely' to mean the growth of Christmas nonsense. It means a vast amount of folly, imitation, greed, ambition. It means ap incalculable sum 06 envies, disappointments, jealousies. It means unmeasured aches. It means women literally “tired to death,” apd men in debt, and neighbors offended, and rich relatives cajoled, and a host of human blunders which we might call the Christmas waste. All the processes of action have their waite, and it does not condemn the action, but only appeals to the intelligence behind the action to regulate the proportion between profit and loss. So, when we have a fine thing—an art, invention, feeling or custom —the first point is how not to lose it, and it may be found that we need a high spiritual economy to save our Christmas from the kind of decadence that belongs to a society like ours. It is the greatest—it ought to be the grandest I —day in our calendar. A petty spirit, a false extravagance, a lost temper, a worn-out body, a disappointed soul, have no more place at Christmas than at marriage time, or heaven time. Mrs. Newlywed—How I love to hear the merry Christmas bells. Mr. Newlywed—l’d like to hear them, tod, if Christmas bells were not so confoundedly suggestive of Christmas bills.

JES' 'FORE CHRISTMAS

Father calls me William, sister calls me Will, Mother calls me Willie—but the fellers call ire Bill! Mighty glad I ain’t a girl—ruther be a boy Without them sashes, curls and things that’a w. rn by Fauntleroy: Love to chawnk green apples an’ go swimmin’ in the lake— Hate to take the castor-lie they give fr belly-ache! Most all the time the hull year roun' their ain't no flies on me. But jes’ ’fore Christmas I’m as good as I kin be! Got a yaller dog named Sport—sick ’rm on the cat; Fust thing she knows she doesn't know where site is at I

Got a clipper-sled, an’ when us boys goesout to slide ’Long comes the grocery cart an’ we all hook a ride!. But, sometimes, when the grocery man is worrited and cross, He reaches at me with his whip and larrups up his hoes; An’ then I latt and holler: “Oh, you never teched me!” But jes' ’fore Christmas I’m as good as I klu be! Jran'ma says she hope* that when I get to be a man I’ll be a missloner like her oldes' brother Dun, As wuz et up by the cannibals that lives In Ceylon's Isle, Where every prospeek pleases an’ only man Is vile! But gran’ma she hud never been to see a Wild West show. Or read the life uv Daniel Boone, or else I guess! she'd, know

That Buffalo Bill an’ cowboys Is good enough f'r me— Excep’ jes’ 'fore Christmas, when I'm good as I kin be! Then ol’ Sport he hangs around, so solium like and still— His eyes they seem a-sayln’: “What’s er matter, little Bill?” ' The cat she sneaks down off her perch, a-wonderln’ what’s become Uv them two enemies uv hern that use ter make things hum! But I am so perlite and stick so earnestlike t>- biz. That mother sez to father: “How Improved our Willie Is!” But father, havin’ been a boy hisself, suspicions me, When, jes' ’fore Christmas, I’m as good as I kin be! For Christmas, with Its lots an’ lots uv candies, cakes and toys, Wuz made, they say, f’r proper kids, and not f’r naughty boys! So wash yer face, and bresh yer hair, an' mln’ yer p’s and q’s,

An’ don’t bust out yer pantaloons, an’ don’t wear cut your shoes; Say yessum to the ladles, an’ yessir to the men An' whenthey's company don’t pass yer plate f’r pie again; y But, thinkin’ uv the things you'd like to see upon that tree, Jes’ ’fore Christmas be as good as you kin be! —Eugene Field, In Ladles* Home Journal.

Yuletide Customs.

It is customary to give a quarter present and expect a $5 one in return. With the usual perverseness 8f nature, Christmas comes in the middle of a hard winter. The modern highwayman doesn’t say “money or your life!” he wishes you “a merry Christmas.” The small boy who tries to make too much noise is apt to blame Santa Claus for not giving him an extra head for his drum. Some people wish you a merry Christmas instead of giving you a present, because it’s easier to pay the cqmijliment.pf the season thaa.it ik to Santa Claiis. • w Your wife expects you to look pleased when she gives you a S4O smoking jacket and tells you she has had it charged.— Truth.

A Christmas Entertainment.

A novel idea for a children’s Christmas entertainment is a butterflies’ ball, writes Elizabeth Robinson Scovil, in tha Ladies’ Home Journal. This need not mean late hours nor expensive dresses. The boys wear tight-fitting suits of black or dark-brown, the girl any pretty, fanciful dresses. The framework of the wings is deftly fashioned of wire and covered with paper or the cotton crepon that comes in such vivid colors; these are spangled with gold or painted to represent the tinting of the butterfly’s wings. A light yoke of wire is constructed to fit the shoulders, fastening under the arms, and to this the wings are attached. The effect is very brilliant and graceful. Another pretty fancy is an archery fete. The children carry small bows dressed' with flowers, and sheafs of arrows in flower-bedecked quivers.