When it came to the point he could never say "No!"

And so for all his weary days
The best of chances failed him;
He lived in strange and troublous ways
And never knew what ailed him;
He'd go to skate when ice was thin;
He'd join in deeds unlawful,
He'd lend his name to worthless notes,
He'd speculate in stocks and oats;
'Twas positively awful,
For he couldn't say "No!" He couldn't say "No!"
He would veer like a weather-cock turning so slow;
He'd diddle, and dawdle, and stutter, but oh!
When it came to the point he could never say "No!"

Then boys and girls who hear my song,
Pray heed its theme alarming:
Be good, be wise, be kind, be strong--
These traits are always charming,
But all your learning, all your skill
With well-trained brain and muscle,
Might just as well be left alone,
If you can't cultivate backbone
To help you in life's tussle,
And learn to say "No!" Yes, learn to say "No!"
Or you'll fall from the heights to the rapids below!
You may waver, and falter, and tremble, but oh!
When your conscience requires it, be sure and shout "No!"

M.E.B.

[Illustration: Going into the Chapel.]

THE CHRISTMAS MONKS.

All children have wondered unceasingly from their very first Christmas
up to their very last Christmas, where the Christmas presents come
from. It is very easy to say that Santa Claus brought them. All well
regulated people know that, of course; about the reindeer, and the
sledge, and the pack crammed with toys, the chimney, and all the rest
of it--that is all true, of course, and everybody knows about it; but
that is not the question which puzzles. What children want to know is,
where do these Christmas presents come from in the first place? Where
does Santa Claus get them? Well, the answer to that is, _In the garden
of the Christmas Monks_. This has not been known until very lately;
that is, it has not been known till very lately except in the
immediate vicinity of the Christmas Monks. There, of course, it has
been known for ages. It is rather an out-of-the-way place; and that
accounts for our never hearing of it before.

The Convent of the Christmas Monks is a most charmingly picturesque
pile of old buildings; there are towers and turrets, and peaked roofs
and arches, and everything which cou