And when gray dawn broke, and all The bells began to peal, And tiny forms down many a hall And stairway 'gan to steal, In vain each chimney-piece they sought-- Those weeping girls and boys-- For Christmas morn had come and brought No candy and no toys.

_Charles Henry Luders._

SANTA CLAUS TO LITTLE ETHEL.

(IN ANSWER TO HER LETTER, GIVING HIM A LIST OF HER CHRISTMAS WANTS.)

My dear little Ethel, I fear that the breath'll Be out of our bodies before we get through; Day in and day out We are rushing about, And you haven't a notion how much there's to do.

Ever since last December, When you may remember I paid you a visit at dear Elsinore, There's not been a minute With a resting-place in it, And my nose has not once been outside of the door.

My shop has been going, My bellows a-blowing, My hammers and tongs and a thousand odd tools, Never give up the battle, But click, bang, and rattle Like ten million children in ten thousand schools.

Dear me, but I'm weary!

And yet, my small deary, I read all the letters as fast as they come; If I didn't,--good gracious!

The house is not s.p.a.cious, And the letters would soon squeeze me out of my home.

"I would like a nice sled, And a dolly's soft bed, With a night-gown and bed-clothes of pretty bright stuffs, And paints, and a case Where my books I may place, And besides all these things, Dolly's collars and cuffs."

That's a pretty big list!

But may I be kissed On the back of my head by a crazy mule's hoof, If the list I don't fill, Though it takes all the skill Of every stout workman beneath my broad roof.

"Hans, Yakob, and Karl!

Let me not hear a snarl, Or a growl, or a grumble come out of your heads; To work now, instanter!

Trot, gallop, and canter, And finish this job ere you go to your beds!"

So I set them to work With a jump and a jerk, And everything's finished in beautiful style.

Christmas Eve's here again, And I'm off with my train, Every reindeer prepared for ten seconds a mile.

I shall slip down the flue With this letter for you, So softly, for fear I your slumbers might break.

Not a word will I speak, But I'll kiss your soft cheek, And be gone in a jiffy, before you awake.

Should you find I've forgot Any part of the lot That I ordered prepared and all marked with your name, Let me just add a word, So if that has occurred, You will know just exactly how I was to blame.

The fact is, my dear, As I go, year by year, Up and down these straight chimneys, while you are in bed, The b.u.mps and the scratches That Santa Claus catches Have rubbed all the hair from the top of his head.

And my brain being bare Of my cover of hair, Is rapidly losing its power, my pet!

Sometimes, after all's fixed, I get everything mixed, And you must forgive if I ever forget.

Good-by, Ethel dear!

May the coming New Year Bring all kinds of blessings to you from above; Make you happier and better: And so my long letter Must close, with a great deal of Santa Claus's love.

_Francis Wells._

_The Season's Reveries._

"How many times have you sat at gaze Till the mouldering fire forgot to blaze, Shaping among the whimsical coals Fancies and figures and shining goals!"

_Lowell._

GUESTS AT YULE.

_Noel! Noel!_ Thus sounds each Christmas bell Across the winter snow.

But what are the little footprints all That mark the path from the churchyard wall?

They are those of the children waked to-night From sleep by the Christmas bells and light: Ring sweetly, chimes! Soft, soft, my rhymes!

Their beds are under the snow.

_Noel! Noel!_ Carols each Christmas bell.

What are the wraiths of mist That gather anear the window-pane Where the winter frost all day has lain?

They are soulless elves, who fain would peer Within and laugh at our Christmas cheer: Ring fleetly, chimes! Swift, swift, my rhymes!

They are made of the mocking mist.

_Noel! Noel!_ Cease, cease, each Christmas bell!

Under the holly bough, Where the happy children throng and shout, What shadow seems to flit about?

Is it the mother, then, who died Ere the greens were sere last Christmas-tide?

Hush, falling chimes! Cease, cease, my rhymes!

The guests are gathered now.

_Edmund Clarence Stedman._

CHRISTMAS IN INDIA.

Dim dawn the tamarisks--the sky is saffron-yellow-- As the women in the village grind the corn, And the parrots seek the riverside, each calling to his fellow That the day, the staring eastern day, is born.

Oh, the white dust on the highway! Oh, the stenches in the by-way!

Oh, the clammy fog that hovers over earth!

And at home they're making merry 'neath the white and scarlet berry-- What part have India's exiles in their mirth?

Full day behind the tamarisks--the sky is blue and staring-- As the cattle crawl afield beneath the yoke, And they bear one o'er the field-path who is past all hope or caring, To the ghat below the curling wreaths of smoke.

Call on Rama, going slowly, as ye bear a brother lowly-- Call on Rama--he may hear, perhaps, your voice!

With our hymn-books and our psalters we appeal to other altars, And to-day we bid "good Christian men rejoice!"

High noon above the tamarisks--the sun is hot above us-- As at home the Christmas Day is breaking wan, They will drink our healths at dinner--those who tell us how they love us, And forget us till another year be gone!

Oh, the toil that knows no breaking! Oh! the heimweh, ceaseless, aching!