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H, little girl, oh. little
boy, you look ahead
'And wonder what the gifts the Saint shall
bring to you may be;
A thousand fancies fill your heads, a thou
sand dreams you dream
Of dollies made in wondrous ways or
things that go by steam;
You'll like whatever comes, you know,
Ard childishly you vow
To keep your treasures well, but. oh.
W'here are the toys of last year now?
You shouted at the Jumping Jack you'd
begged the Saint to bring;
You laughed to see the antics of the mon
key on the string;
The fairy book, the pictured blocks, the
little train, the doll
'Ah how you danced with gladness as you
looked upon them all!
But that ,as long, so long ago.
And you, you know, somehow,
Save newer wants to-day, and' oh
Where are the toys of last year row?
Oh, anxious man, oh, lady fair, you court
the fates to-day,
And there are blessir,gs rich and rare for
which yoh mnekly pray;
A loving glance, a happy smile; perhaps
the strength to take
New-found respl>nsibilities for wealth or
You grasp new hands anr gladly go,
And faithfully you vow
To cherish and1 to love, but, oh,
Where art the toys of last year now?
,-.. E. Kiser, In C'hicago Record-Heraidt.
1 S S DEBORAH
Aunt Debby, as we
girls called her, lived in a quaint old
:one-story house in an old-fashioned
street. She was "Aunt Debby" to all
the young folks of the village. Al
ithough she was over 80 years old, her
'memory was excellent, and. she could
ell a story that would interest any
one. She was a dear, cheery old soul,
and we all loved her. An old colored
servant lived with her. We girls often
dropped in to see Aunt Debby and to
remember her in various ways. It was
late in December of a hard winter that
we found out that Aunt Debby was in
straitened circumstances. She did
not tell us, however, and we did not let
her know that we knew. But a half
dozen of us planned a surprise for her.
We invited ourselves to a Christmas
eve supper at Aunt Debby's. It was a
bitterly cold evening when we dropped
in about half-past five, informing her
laughingly that we had come to take
tea with her. She had always been so
hospitable that it was pitiful to see the
dear old face suddenly pale. Of course
we knew the reason-a scarcity of
provisions. Doubtless there was
enough on hand to satisfy the hunger
of herself and Sukey, but what could
she do to satisfy the healthy appetites
of six young girls? But we chased the
pallor from Aunt Debby's face by
hastily telling her that, it being a
surprise, we had brought our supper
along. How pleased she was then.
And how delightedly she watched us
as we arranged the table! Such a
supper! We had brought coffee, sugar
and cream, and Sukey made the coffee
and waited on the table. We had cold
sliced chicken and tongue, bread and
butter, biscuits, jelly, fruit and sponge
cakes. And when we were through
eating there was more food in the
basket than we had eaten. We told
Sukey to take care of it and her face
was aglow when she put the good
things away. When the supper was
cleared away. Aunt Debby told us
stories of auld-lang-syne. There was
a bright fire in an old open Franklin
stove, Aunt Debby looked at the glow
and felt the warmth.
"We didn't have such a nice warm
room as this when I was a girl," she
said. "Folks hadn't even heard of
stoves where we lived."
"Oh. Aunt Debby!"
"You needn't say, 'Oh, Aunt Debby!'
Mollie Gray," the old lady continued,
smiling on us, "for it's the truth. We
bad big fireplaces then, that would
hold great logs. Over those blazing
logs we cooked our meals, boiling,
stewing and roasting. We used to bake
apples over the fire, stringing them
on wires. As for potatoes we baked
ithem in hot ashes."
"Oh, my, that must'rave been lovely,'
cried Isabel Howell. "I wish we hac
such big fireplaces now."
"Well, they were nice," said Auni
Debby, "but they had their disadvan.
tages. You see a great deal of the
heat from the open fire went up the
chimney. When we were scorching
our faces to get our feet warm, our
backs would feel-sometimes-as if
some one was rolling snow down them,
And if we were warming our backs our
noses and our feet would be cold."
"low did you bake your bread with
out a stove?" asked Edith Brown.
"In the oven, to be sure."
"What oven?" questioned Edith.
"The fireplace didn't have an oven, did
"Our ovens were made of brick and
built right in the kitchen wall. We
heated the oven with glowing logs
from the fireplace."
Then Aunt Debby went on telling
stories until she fell asleep in her
chair. We girls were so quiet one
could have heard a pin drop. Present
13 there was such a noise outside that
Aunt Debby anwoke with a start.
"What's that. noise?" she asked,
looking around in a dazed way.
"I think it must be Santa Claus,"
Betty Jones answered with a chuckle.
It was Santa C(laus. and he nas super
intending the unloading of a ton of
coal. Presently he canme again-this
time with a load of wood. Aunt Deb
by's dear old face fairly shone by the
light of the fire.
"How good God is!" she exclaimed.
"How good you all are!"
"Iow good you are, dear Aunt Deb
by!" cried out Isabel Howell.
When things had quieted down
again. Fannie Stearns said: "What
did you nee to do Christmas when you
were a girl?"
"I can tell you what I did one Christ
mas eve. Christmas was on Monday
that year. On Sunday we went to
church as usual. The pews were like
little houses. They were high and
square. with swinging doors. There
\were seats on three sides. The pulpit
was high and was reached by a flight
of deep steps. Over the pulpit was a
sournding board. Father used to give
out the hymns and Melinda Wyckoff's
father would. sound the key on his
pitch-pipe. Folks can talk all they
want to about the music in church
nowadays, but. oh, wouldn't I like to
roll time back just to hear that music
of auld-lang-syne? We had a choir
Mr. Wyckoff was the leader-and they
sat facing each other, the men on one
side, the women on the other. We had
instruments, too, violins, flutes, clari
nets and bass-viols. Oh, my dears, it
"I told you we didn't have any stoves
in our houses. There were none in our
churches either until after that Christ
mas eve that I'm to tell you about.
Every one who went, to church carried
hot bricks or stones or foot pans filled
with glowing coals. There was a time
when some one who had been to an
eastern city on a visit, suggested or
dering some heaters for the church.
But so many were opposed to it that
the church continued to be fireless.
This Sunday, in the midst of a long,
tiresome sermon, the weather, which
had been extremely cold, suddenly
grew bitter. The storm broke. The
church seemed to shake and, groan.
but the preacher preached on. When
he thought best to stop an hour or
more later he found himself and his
congregation in a dilemma. The snow
was falling and blowing at such a rate
that one couldn't see a yard ahead.
The drifts in places were taller than
a man's head. There was not even the
faintest trace of a road; in fact, we
were blockaded. It was then that
everyone wished for those heaters.
The hot foot-warmers were cooling
fast. Children began to weep andwai!
as night closed in. The prospect was
that we would all be frozen before
morning. No one ever went to church
in those days without having an
abundance of wraps and their feet well
protected; this fact was in our favor.
All the children were well wrapped up
and fell asleep in the big square pews.
The men and women kept up their
courage by singing and praying. But
as time passed it grew colder and
colder, andi no voice was heard except
at intervals when Deacon Van Brunt.
after going the rounds of the church
and looking at everyone-including
the sleeping children, would call out:
'All's well!' and Elder Schuyler would
respond: 'Praise the Lord!' The last
time Deacon Van Brunt called out:
'All's well!' his voice was faint and his
teeth chattered. We knew then that it
wouldn't be 'All's well' much longer
not much longer. Suddenly from out
side we heard a noise that was not the
storm-it seemed to ride the storm
it was a yell of triumph. Simultane
ously with the fell the door burst
open, and in came 'Alabama,' an Indi
an chief whom Deacon Van Brunt had
once befriended. He was glittering
with ice and snow, but his face shone.
The 'Great Spirit' had sent him, he
said. An Indian can find a path or a
road if anyone can. Alabama hac
made a path from Deacon Van Brunt's
to the church-a difficult task and we
had to hurry for fear the path would
be closed. The horses were brought
from the shed and the women and chil
dren were put on their backs. Then
we started, Indian file, for Deacon
Van Brunt's, which was half a mile
away. Alabama headed the proces.
sion. It was a wearisome march in
the co!i and storm, but everyone was
too thankful to complain. Mrs. Van
Brunt-dear soul!-was looking for
us. The logs were blazing in the big
fireplace and there was an abundant
and excellent supper ready. Alabama
was given the seat of honor. There
was a prayer-meeting worthy of the
name at Deacon Van Brunt's before
the dawn of another day. As for the
heaters, they were sent for and put in
before we had another service in the
There was the sound of sleigh bells
outside and presently in came Judge
"AVell, Aunt Debby." said he, in his
genial way. "if these girls don't know
enough to go home when it's bedtime.
why don't you send them?"
"We know enough to stay." laughed
Isabel, "when Aunt Debby is telling
We put on our wraps. kissed Aunt
Debby good night and piled into the
sleigh. Sukey told me as I passed her
at the door: "De jedge done bring
Missie Debby a mighty nice turkey an'
all kin's er fixin's."
There were other delightful sur
prises for dear old Aunt Debby. but
we had to go home and go to bed
The girls went in a crowd next day to
wish Aunt Debby Merry Christmas. It
was a glorious day. clear and cold and
bright. We smelled roast turkey be
fore we opened the door. Aunt Debby
was at. the table with four small
guests, ranging in age from six to
twelve years. In response to our won
dering looks, she said, sweetly:
"They are orphans. They came to
wish me a Merry Christmas and I kept
them so that they could have one.
Dear Aunt Debby. she was "passing
on" her blessings. All that day gifts
kept coming. baskets, hampers, and
even barrels full to the brim.
"T'ings been a lookin' da'k fo' some
time," Sukey confided to Betty Jones,
who went into the kitchen on an er
rand, "but Missie Debby done say:
'Don't yo' fret, Sukey. behin' a frown
in' Providence God hides a smilin'
face.' Den she say: 'Sukey. I's fo'
scoah yeahs en ober an' de good Lawd
neber failed ter provide-I's not 'fraid.
Sukey.' "-Chicago Advance.
A Time of Rejoicing.
We are all rejoicing in the oncom
ing of the Christmas time. Some of
us who are no longer children in
years are still young in heart, and
we are as eager for the dawning of
the Christmas day as are the children
themselves. Only those whose hearts
are calloused beyond the power to
feel at all can be indifferent to the
influence of that subtle and beautiful
thing we call the Christmas spirit.
It is in reality the Christ spirit, and it
is such a good and helpful spirit that
it is a pity we do not try to keep it
in our hearts throughout the entire
year. It is a pity that we do not
sing and rejoice throughout the en
tire year, and it is a pity that the
whole ransomed world does not lift
up "its universal voice" in praise and
rejoicing because of all that Christ
But we rejoice that they who look
for Christ in the world will find him
in so many homes and in so many
lives. It is true that "the world
never was so full of humble, unos
tentatious Christian service as to-day.
Beneath the uproar of contending
principles and the clash of opposing
forces, which seem sometimes to fill
the whole world with the tumult of
their antagonisms, there is another
world, full of pain and sorrow and
heavy with ncare, but full also of the
sweetness of sacrifice, the joy of sutir
render, and the peace of unselfish
A Crel Blow.
Miss Flypp (tearfully)-I thinl# Mr.
Huggins is real mean.
Miss Fosdick-What has he (lone?
Miss Flypp--He asked me what I
thought would be a nice Christmas
gift for a young lady, and I told him
a diamond brooch. Of course I sup
posed I was the young lady he al
luded to, but what does he do but go
and buy it for that perfectly odious
Julia Tracy."-Leslie's Weekly.
This is the picture of an obliging bach
flor uncle who, in a moment of amiable
weakness. consented to play Santa for
his charming nieces, and their little
nes. Being a spare man, he had to dress
or the character-hence the fan and his
isconsolate appearance. How cruel for
them to laugh behind his back!
Y brother Lemuel mar
ried Mehitable Pierce
when he was quite along
in years. Nobody thought
he'd ever get married at
all, any more'n my
brothers Reuben and Silas. The
three had lived together and kept
bachelors' hall ever since our
mother died, 1 was married and
away from home long before she
died. I didn't know how they
would get along at first, but
all of the boys had been used to
helpin' ma a good deal, and they
were real handy, andi when I asked
if they wasn't goin' to have a house
keeper, they wouldn't hear to it.
They said they wasn't goin' to have
no strange woman round in ma's
place, nohow. So Silas he took hold
and did the washin' and ironin', and
Reuben did the sweepin'. and Lemuel,
he was the youngest, next to me.
did the cookin'. lie could cook a din
ner equal to any woman, andi his pies
beat mine. My husband said so, and
I had to give in they did.
Well, they seemed to get on so
nice, and none of 'em had ever seem
ed to think much about the girls, not
even when they was boys, that I
must say I was astonished when
Lemuel he up and got married to Me
hitable Pierce. She was a little along
in years, too, rather more so than
Lemuel, and a dreadful smart piece.
She was good lookin' and had prop
erty, but she was dreadful smart and
up an' comin'. I could never see how
Lemuel got the courage to ask her
to have him, he was always a kind of
mild spoken little fellow. Reuben he
declared he didn't. He vowed that
Mehitable asked him herself. He
said he knew it for a fact. and he
said it with the tears rollin' down
his cheeks. Reuben was the oldest,
and he'd always been terrible fond
of Lemuel. "That poor boy would
never have got in sech a fix ef thht
woman hadn't up an' asked him, an'
he didn't have spunk enough to say
no," said Reuben, and he swallered
Mehitable had a nice house of her
own that her father left her, all fur
nished and everything, so of course
Lemuel he went to live with her, and
Mehitable's house was pretty near
where I lived, so I could see every
thing that was goin' on. It wa'n't
very long before I said to Hannah
Morse, my husband's old maid sis
ter that lives with us and teaches
school, that I believed Lemuel was
henpecked, though I hadn't anythin'
"I don't see what else anybody that
married Mehitable Pierce would ex
pect," said Hannah. She spoke real
sharp for her. I've always kind of
wondered if Hannah would have had
Lemuel if he'd asked her. "Well,"
said I, "I hope poor Lemuel will be
happy. He's always been such a
good, mild, willin' boy that it does
seem a pity for him to be rode over
Lemuel Began to Look Real Downtrod.
rough-shod, and have all the will he
ever did have trodden into the dust."
"Well, that is what will happen,
or I'll miss my guess," said HIannah
Morse. For a long while 1 thought
she was right. It was really pitiful
to see Lemuel. lie didn't have no
more liberty than a five-year-old boy,
and not so much. Mehitable wouldn't
let him do this and that, and if there
was anythin' he wanted to do, she
wasgot against it, and he'd always
give right in.
Mehitable she bought all his
clothes, an' she favored long-tailed
coats, an' he bein' such a short man,
never looked well in 'em, and she
wouldn't let him have store shirts
and collars, but made them herself,
and she didn't have very good pat
terns, she used her father's old ones,
and he wasn't no such built man as
Lemuel, and I know he sutffered ev
erything, both in his pride an' his
feelin's. Lemuel began to look real
downtrod. He didn't seem like half
such a man as he did, and the queer
est thing about it was: Mehitable
didn't 'pear to like the work of her
own hands, so to speak.
One day she talked to me about it.
"I dunno what 'tis," said she, "but
Lemueli he don't seem to have no go I
ahead and no ambition and no will of
his own. He tries to please me, but
it don't seem as if he had grit enough 1
even for that. Sometimes I think he
ain't well, but I dunno what ails him
I've been real careful of him. He's
worn thick flannels, and he's ha(
wholesome victuals; I never let hin
"Lemuel was always dreadful font
of pie," I said. I felt kind of sorry
for I remembered how fond pool
Lemuel had always been of mother's
pies, and what good ones he used t(
"I know it," said Mehitable. "Hi
wanted to make some himself, wher
we were first married, but I vetoes
that. I wasn't goin' to have a mar
messin' round makin' pies, and ]
wasn't goin' to have him eatin' o0
'em after they were made. Pies ain'1
good for him. But I declare I dunne
what does make him act so kind o1
spiritless. I told him to-day I thoughi
he'd b,-tter make a resolution for the
She Jest 8at Down and Began Twisting the
Fringe of Her Shawl As if She Was Real
New Year and stick to it, and see if
it wouldn't put some spunk into
Pretty soon she went home. 1
could see she was real kind of trou
bled. She always did think a good
deal of Lemuel in spite of every
The next day was New Year's, and
in the afternoon Mehitable came in
again. She didn't have her sewin' as
she generally did, she was a very in
dustrious woman. She jest set down
and begun twisting the fringe of her
shawl as if she was real nervous. Her
face was puckered up, too. "I don't
know what to make of Lemuel," said
"Why, what's the matter?" said I.
"He says he's made a resolution
for the New Year." said she, "and
that he's goin' to keep it."
"Well, what is it?" said I.
"I dunno," said she.
"Well, if it's a good one you don't
care. do you?" said I, "and it couldn't
be anything but a good one if my
brother made it."
"I dunno what it is," said she.
"Won't he tell?"
"No, he won't. I can't get a word
out of him about it. He don't act
Well, I must say I never saw such
a change as-come over Mehitable and
Lemuel after that. He wouldn't tell
what his resolution was, and she
couldn't make him, though she al
most went down on her knees. It
began to seem as if she was fairly
changing characters with Lemuel,
though she had a spell of bein' her
self more'n ever at first, tryin' to
force him to tell what the resolu
tion was. Then she give that up, and
she never asked him where he was
goin', an' he could come in my house
an' set jest as long as he wanted to,
and she bought him a short-tailed
coat and some store collars and
shirts, and he looked like another
man. He got to stayin' down to the
store nights, an' talkin' politics with
the other ren real loud. I heard
him myself one night and I couldn't
believe it was Lemuel.
Well,. Lemuel he never gave in, and
he never told till the next New Year's
day, when he said he would tell. He'd
said all along that he'd tell her then.
I'd got most as curious as Mehitable
myself by that time, and New Year's
mornin' I run over real early-they
wasn't through breakfast. He was
most through. He was ,finishing up
with a big piece of mince pie, and
he'd made it himself, too. When he'd
swallowed the last mouthful, he
looked up and he laughed, real pleas
ant and sweet, and yet with more
manliness than I'd ever seen in him.
"S'pose you want to know what
that New Year's 'resolution was?"
"I guess I can stand it awhile lon
ger," said Mehitable. Now the time
had come she didn't want to act too
eager, but I showed out jest what I
"For the land sake, Lemuel Bab
bit, what was it?" said I.
Lemuel he laughed again. "Well, it
wasn't much of anythin'," he said. In
his gentle drawlin' way. "I didn't
make no resolution really."
"What, Lemuel Babbit!" cried Me
"No," said he; "I couldn't think of
none to make, so made a resolu
tion not to tell that I hadn't made
any."-People's Home JournaL
IAT shall I pack up
From the Old Year
to the New?
I'll leave out the frets
and doubts un
Angry words - ah,
how I rue them!
Selfish deeds and
Aryone is welcome to themi
I shall leave them all behind.
Plans? the trunk would' need be double.
Hopes? they'd burst the stoutest lid.
Sharp ambitions! last year's stubble!
Take them, Old Year! keep them hid.
All my fears shall be fersaken,
All my failures manifold';
Nothing gloomy shall be taken
To the New Year from the Old,
My contentment, would 'twere greater!
All the courage I possess;
All my trust-there's not much weight
All my faith, or more or less.
And I'll pack my choicest treasure,
Smiles I've seen and praises heard,
Memories of unselfish pleasure,
Cheery looks, the kindly word,
Ah, my riches silence cavil!
To my rags I bid adieu!
Like the Croesus I shall travel
From the Old Year to the New.
-Amos R. Wells, In Washington Home
OUR PERSONAL INTERESTS.
We Should Endeavor to Benefit from
the Lesson That Experience Has
Taught Us in the Past.
This assurance of the eternal veri
ties of life and character is something
to be truly thankful for, but it is not
enough to be thankful-here is some
thing to be eagerly embraced as a
step in our own onward progress,
writes D. H. R. Goodale, in Country
Gentleman. Shall we give our whole
lives to the cares of the body, how
ever needful? Shall we not take more
thought for the spiritual and intel
lectual life, in ourselves and in all
those with whom we have to do? Will
not the New Year give opportunities
for a fuller and wider usefun!ess-
happier and more generous activities?
These are the things that make life
better worth living. In true sym
pathy, in practical exertion for others
as occasion offers, in self denial-for
we are called upon to lend our voices,
our hands and our purses when re
quired-shall we not in the coming 12
months reach out more freely apd ex
tend the use of whatever gifts we
possess? Can we not do better than
ever before ? Have we learned nothing
in the past year or years? Have we
neither made mistakes by which we
can take warning nor gained clews
which will serve to guide us?
A year that promises personal ad
vance in the inward gains of experi
ence-a year of earnest effort toward
the best that we know, the highest
truth that we are able clearly to per
ceive-cannot fail to be a good year.
And it is never too late to take up
threads that have been dropped, inter
ests that have been crowded out in
the hurry and amid the thronging
duties of a busy life. It is a good time
to think of them now-to recall the
friend or relative or. alas! the friend
less one whom we might perhaps have
helped. but whom we have lost sight
of among a host of pre-occupations.
Who cannot recall some neglected or
forgotten opportunities? It may be
the golden hour is not quite gone.
Will it not be a real good fortune if
the New Year repairs the omission of
the old?. Better still if there are no
palpable omissions to repair, but even
in that case there may be room for
many a good deed before unthought
of. Every year may have its blessed
NO NEW ONEI FPOR HIM.
Bradds-"Going to make any wew
resolutions this year, Spikes?"
Spikes-"New ones? I should say
not! I've got a lot of old ones I've
lever used, by jove!"--C'hicago Daily
The a~tions and voices of domestie
animals on New Year's Day are per
ilaps considered in some countries
more significant than any other
omens. A dog's cheerful bark in the
morning is a most auspicious sign,
while his howl is very unfavorable.
To meet a cat on the morn of the
New Year is considered by peo
ple in the Latin countries as a sign
that they will change their residence,
and it also betokens ill for the fu
Lure. Throughout southern Europe
it is regarded as a most fortunate
sign to see a pig, signifying plenty
for the coming twelvemonth. The
sight of a snake is the worst con
eivable omen, for it means death by
violence. To see a jackdaw, magpie
•r crow is a sign that the beholder
will be cheated on all asLdes during
lhe followintg year.