In glad and secret confidence, though not a word they said But one, the baby of the band, could not restrain a sigh-- "You all will be approved," he said, "but, oh! what chance have I?"

Then axe on shoulder to the grove a woodman took his way.

One baby-girl he had at home, and he went forth to find A little tree as small as she, just suited to his mind.

Oh, glad and proud the baby-fir, amid its brethren tall, To be thus chosen and singled out, the first among them all!

He stretched his fragrant branches, his little heart beat fast, He was a real Christmas tree; he had his wish at last.

One large and shining apple with cheeks of ruddy gold, Six tapers, and a tiny doll were all that he could hold.

"I am so small, so very small, no one will mark or know How thick and green my needles are, how true my branches grow; Few toys and candles could I hold, but heart and will are free, And in my heart of hearts I know I am a Christmas tree."

The Christmas angel hovered near; he caught the grieving word, And, laughing low, he hurried forth, with love and pity stirred.

He sought and found St Nicholas, the dear old Christmas saint, And in his fatherly kind ear rehea.r.s.ed the fir-tree's plaint.

Saints are all-powerful, we know, so it befell that day, The baby laughed, the baby crowed, to see the tapers bright; The forest baby felt the joy, and shared in the delight.

And when at last the tapers died, and when the baby slept, The little fir in silent night a patient vigil kept; Though scorched and brown its needles were, it had no heart to grieve.

"I have not lived in vain," he said; "thank G.o.d for Christmas eve!"

_--Susan Coolidge_.

=The Russian Santa Claus.=

By LIZZIE M. HADLEY.

Over the Russian snows one day, Upon the eve of a Christmas day, While still in the heavens shone afar, Like a spark of fire, that wondrous star, Three kings with jewels and gold bedight Came journeying on through the wintry night.

Out of the East they rode amain, With servants and camels in their train.

Laden with spices, myrrh, and gold, Gems and jewels of worth untold, Presents such as to-day men bring, To lay at the feet of some Eastern king.

Wrinkled and feeble, old and gray, Dame Babousca, that Christmas day, Looked from her hut beside the moor, Where the four roads crossed by her cottage door, And saw the kings on their camels white, A shadowy train in the wintry night.

They knocked at her cabin door to tell That wonderful story we know so well, Of the star that was guiding them all the way To the place where the little Christ-Child lay, And they begged that she, through the sleet and snow, To the nearest village with them would go.

But naught cared she for that unknown Child, And winds about her blew fierce and wild, For the night was stormy, dark, and cold, And poor Babousca was weak and old, And in place of the pitiless winter's night, Her lowly hut seemed a palace bright.

So to their pleadings she answered "Nay,"

And watched them all as they rode away.

But when they had gone and the night was still, Her hut seemed lonely, and dark, and chill, And she almost wished she had followed them In search of the Babe of Bethlehem.

And then as the longing stronger grew, She said, "I will find Him," but no one knew, Where was the cradle in which He lay When He came to earth upon Christmas day, For the kings and their trains were long since gone, And none could tell of the Babe, new born.

Then filling a basket with toys, she said, As over the wintry moor she sped, "I will go to the busy haunts of men, There I shall find the kings, and then, Together we'll go that Child to meet, And jewels and toys we'll lay at His feet.

The kings with their trains have long been clay.

The hut on the moor has mouldered away, But old and feeble, worn and gray, Every year upon Christmas day, It matters not though the winds blow chill, Old Babousca is seeking still.

And every year when the joy-bells chime, To tell of the blessed Christmas time, When in Holland they tell to the girls and boys, Of good Saint Nicholas and his toys, In Russia, the little children say, "Old Babousca has pa.s.sed this way."

=A Christmas Garden.=

(A prose recitation, or suggestion for composition.)

There is a story told of a magician who conjured up a garden in the winter time. The wand of the wizard, however, is not necessary to disclose even in a northern climate in the cold months the beautiful contents of Nature's world. The varieties of evergreen, pine, hemlock, fir, cedar, and larch provide a variety of green foliage through the dreary weather. The rich, cl.u.s.tering berries, besides their ornamental character, furnish food for the s...o...b..rds. The Christmas rose, wax-like in its white purity, will bloom out of doors long after frost if a gla.s.s is turned over the plant on cold nights. The ivy remains glossy, its green berry another addition to our winter bouquet.

Farther south, but still within our United States, the scarlet holly grows in luxuriance. So full of holiday a.s.sociation is this tree that its branches are carefully transported a thousand miles for use during Christmas week. Its crisp leaves, lively color, and happy sentiment make the holly, pre-eminent as a winter ornament, prince in our Christmas garden.

A contrast is furnished by the delicate sprays of the mistletoe growing upon the limbs of the oak, elm, and apple trees. The white berry attaches itself, curiously enough, without roots of any kind, and becomes an enduring plant.

=A Christmas Carol.=

"What means this glory round our feet?"

The Magi mused, "more bright than morn?"

And voices chanted clear and sweet, "To-day the Prince of Peace is born!"

"What means that star?" the shepherd said, "That brightens through the rocky glen?"

And angels answering overhead, Sang, "Peace on earth, good will to men!"

'Tis eighteen hundred years and more Since those sweet oracles were dumb; We wait for Him, like them of yore; Alas, He seems so slow to come!

But it was said, in words of gold.

No time or sorrow e'er shall dim, That little children might be bold In perfect trust to come to Him.

All round about our feet shall shine A light like that the wise men saw, If we our loving wills incline To that sweet Life which is the Law.

So shall we learn to understand The simple faith of shepherds then, And clasping kindly hand in hand, Sing, "Peace on earth, good will to men!"

And they who do their souls no wrong, But keep at eve the faith of morn, Shall daily hear the angel-song, "To-day the Prince of Peace is born!"

_J.R. Lowell_

=The Power of Christmas.=

Even under the pressure of battle the influence of the Christmas season has exerted a powerful effect. In 1428, during the war of the roses, while Orleans was under siege, the English lords, history tells us, requested the French commanders to suspend hostilities, and let the usual celebration of Christmas eve take their place. This was agreed to, and the air was filled with the song of the minstrels and the music of trumpets, instead of the discordant sounds of battle.