more things than we have dreamt of in our philosophy. The
collection is like a group of immortelles, gray in that twilight of the
reason which Americans are so fond of inviting, or, rather, they are
like a cluster of Indian pipe, those pale blossoms of the woods that
spring from the dark mould in the deepest shade, and are so entirely of
our own soil.

W. D. H.

The Christmas Child

BY GEORG SCHOCK

The moonlight was so bright across the clock that it showed the time,
and its tick was solemn, as though the minutes were marching slowly by.
There was no other sound in the room except the breathing of Conrad, who
lay in shadow, sleeping heavily, his head a black patch among the
pillows. Mary's hair looked like gold in the pale light which reflected
in her open eyes. She had been lying so, listening to the tick and
watching the hands, for hours.

When they marked eleven she began to stir; her feet made no more sound
than shadows; the cold air struck her body like a strange element.
Conrad did not move as she went into the kitchen and softly closed the
door. She groped her way to the chair where she had left her clothes and
put them on, wrapped herself in a shawl, and slipped out.

There was no snow, but a keen cold as befitted the night of the 24th of
December, and between two fields the ice on the Northkill glittered. The
air was so clear that far away appeared the great black barrier of the
mountains. Across the sky, as across deep water, was a radiance of
light, serene and chill,--of clouds like foam, of throbbing stars, of
the moon glorious in her aura. In the towns at that hour the people were
ready to begin the coming day with prayer and the sound of bells: here
sky and earth themselves honored the event with light and silence in a
majestic expectation.

As she made her way over the frozen grass she looked as detached from
the world's affairs as some shrouded lady at her nightly journey along a
haunted path. The great Swiss barn was dead silent; its red front,
painted with moons and stars, looked patriarchal; it had its own
pastoral and dignified associations. She hesitated at the middle door,
then she lifted the wooden bar and pushed it back cautiously. The
darkness seemed to come out to meet her, and when she had shut herself
in she was engulfed as though the ready earth had covered her a few
nights too soon.

The straw rustled when she stepped on