THE CHRISTMAS STOCKING.
"Dear Santa Claus," wrote
little Will in letters truly
shocking, "I's been a good
boy, so please fill a heapen
up this stocking. I want
a drum to make pa sick
and drive my mamma cra-
zy. I want a doggie I can
kick so he will not get
lazy. I want a powder
gun to shoot right at my
sister Annie, and a big
trumpet I can toot just
awful loud at granny. I
want a dreffle big false
face to scare in fits our ba-
by. I want a pony I can
race around the parlor,
maybe. I want a little
hatchet, too, so I can do
some chopping upon our
grand piano new, when
mamma goes a-shopping.
I want a nice hard rub-
ber ball to smash all
into flinders, the
great big mirror
in the hall an'
lots an' lots of
winders. An'
candy that'll
make me
sick, so ma
all night will
hold me an'
make pa get the
doctor quick an'
never try to scold
me. An' Santa Claus,
if pa says I'm naughty
it's a story. Jus' say
if she whips me I'll
die an' surely go to
glory."
THE CHRISTMAS CRIB.
From the French of J. Grange, by Th. Xr. K.
There still subsist, in certain provinces of France, old religious customs which are full of charming simplicity. May they endure and ever hold out against the icy breath of skepticism, the cold rules of the beautiful, and the wearisome level of uniformity.
In the churches of Limousin, between Christmas and the Purification, is found a rustic monument called crib. The crib is generally a straw hut, thatched with branches of holly and pine; on these branches are scattered little patches of white wadding, which look like snowflakes. Inside the house, on a bed of straw, lies an Infant Jesus made of wax. All these Infants look alike and are charming; they have blond hair, blue eyes, pink cheeks, and a silk or brocade gown, with gold and silver spangles. To the right of the Child is the Blessed Virgin; to the left, St. Joseph. These are of wax or even of colored pasteboard. A little behind the Holy Family, and forming two distinct groups, may be seen the kings and the shepherds. The shepherds are like peasants of that part of the country, with long hair, big felt hats, and blue drugget vests. Most of them carry in their hands, or in baskets, dairy or farm presents,—fruits, eggs, honey-comb, a pair of doves. As for the kings, they are superbly clothed in long gowns, whose trail is carried by dwarfs. One of them, called the king of Ethiopia, is black and has kinky hair.
In certain cribs, simplicity and exactness are pushed to such lengths, as to represent the ox and the ass, with the rack full of hay. There may be also seen, but less frequently, in the kings' group, camels and dromedaries, covered with rich harness, and led by the bridle by slaves. If you want to do things right and leave nothing out, you must skilfully arrange above the crib a yellow-colored glass in which burns a flame, which represents the star that the Magi perceived and which stopped over the grotto at Bethlehem. Candles and tapers burn before the crib, which is surrounded by some pious women, and a number of children, who never grow weary of admiring the Holy Family and its brilliant retinue.
I was one day in a church where there was one of these cribs. I was hidden by a column and was a witness, without any wish of mine, of the impressions which the little monument made on visitors.
A gentleman, a stranger in the locality, entered the church with a young lady, about eighteen years of age, who seemed to be his daughter. The gentleman took off his hat, put on a smoking cap, and began to visit the church with as much carelessness of demeanor as though it were a provincial museum. The young lady dipped the tips of her fingers in the holy water, sped through a short prayer, and hastened to rejoin her father, with whom she began to chat and laugh.