CHRISTMAS IN CALIFORNIA.
“To think that this is Christmas Day!”
Said Harold to his aunt,
“I know it really is, and yet,
Believe it—well, I can’t!
I’ve had a tree, my stocking, too,
This morning full I found,
But how can I believe it
With no snow upon the ground?
Look at the sea so bright and blue,
And feel the soft, warm air,
And there are roses all in bloom,
And lilies, I declare!
I think that California
Is lovely, but it’s queer,
How different Christmas is at home
From what it is out here.”
“Ah, Harold!” gently said his aunt,
“No matter where you go,
In country strewn with flowers like this,
Or clad in ice and snow,
The birthday of the Christ-child is
The same in every place,
And happy greetings in His name,
Bring smiles to every face.”
A TROUBLESOME CALL.
We were going, on Saturday, ever so far,—
My mamma and I,—to the Dollies’ Bazaar,
Where fifty wax dollies,—the loveliest show,
Went walking about when they wound ‘em, you know.
You wouldn’t believe half the things they could do:
Why, one said “Good morning,” as plainly as you.
One played the piano, and one, dressed in lace,
Walked up to a mirror and powdered her face.
Well, when we were ready we stepped in the hall,
And there was a lady a-coming to call.
She said she just chanced to be passing that way,
And she really had only a minute to stay.
We waited and waited, and hoped she would go,
Till I saw it was almost the time for the show,
For I heard the clocks striking all over the town,
And I knew that the dollies would all be run down.
And so I just said, “I should s’pose, Mrs. Black,
Your little girl wonders why don’t you come back.”
That’s all that I spoke, every ‘dentical word;
But she said, “Little girls should be seen and not heard.”
I guess that’s a proverb, so maybe ‘tis true;
But, if people won’t see, what can little girls do?
My mamma looked queer, but that ended the call,
And we went to the Dollies’ Bazaar, after all.
BERTIE’S CORN-POPPER
Bertie had the desire of his heart,—a corn-popper! He had wanted it for a long time,—three weeks, at least. Mamma brought it when she came home from the city, and gave it to him for his very own. A bushel of corn, ready popped, would not have been half so good. There was all the delight of popping in store for the long winter evenings.
Bertie could hardly wait to eat his supper before he tried his corn-popper. It proved to be a very good one. He popped corn that evening, and the next, and the next. He fed all the family, gave some to all his playmates, and carried a bag of pop-corn to school for his teacher.