hing, and think
of a hungry brood of nestlings waiting at home, and feel some degree of
displeasure and regret in the fact that the marauder, unpunished and
unregretful, is none other than the emblem and figure-head of the great
republic. He knows that no nation can be considered strictly honest
except his own, and he ever after is disposed to wonder at that
ignorance of the plainest facts of natural history that has led it to
choose out from the beasts and birds a thief and a coward for the only
bit of heraldry its statutes know,

JAMES STEELE.

_THE HOLY NIGHT._

It was so still a night--
So calm and still!
And watching stars, far in the silent sky,
Shone tenderly
Upon the quiet world asleep and chill,
And lying breathless in the frozen light.

O earth, unconscious earth!
Serene that hour
As the untroubled heart of the sweet maid
Who now hath laid
Her little Child to rest--her Child whose power
Hath bid e'en soulless things proclaim His birth.

Yet silent lies He now,
And asketh naught,
This sweetest One, but on His mother's breast
He findeth rest.
And of her tender smiling (sorrow-bought)
The still light falleth on His sleeping brow.

"My Own!" she whispers low,
And then her ear
Hath caught the angel anthem from above,
Where the Blest Dove
Forever broodeth, and she waits to hear
The song of peace re-echoed o'er the snow.

And yet the Babe doth sleep;
And does He dream
How, in the golden Christmases to come,
Through each fair house
That self-same song of peace, while tapers gleam,
Shall sound, as now it soundeth, strong and deep.

For happy childhood bears
Forevermore
His seal upon its brow, and childhood's voice
Shall e'er rejoice
At this glad time, when the Redeemer wore
Its poverty, its feebleness, and tears.
And every human heart
Shall tender grow
And very humble, if a child but speak,
That seemeth weak,
But still is strong in Him who would forego
Through strength of love all things that joy impart.

We praise Thee, O Thou King
Thou Holy One!
We praise Thee for our childhood, and we praise
Through all our days
This festival of peace and good-will shown
To man, while evermore the angels sing.

HELEN GRACE SMITH.

_JOE:_

A STORY OF FRONTIER LIF