EMILY.--Goodness me! What is that thing coming this way?

MARY.--I am afraid of it. Is it a man?

RUTH.--As I live, it is Uncle Peter!

EMILY.--Who is Uncle Peter?

RUTH.--He is the man, who, every Christmas, buys as many toys as he can
carry, and gives them to good children. Here he comes.

(_Enter_ UNCLE PETER, _comically dressed, and covered from head to foot
with all sorts of toys, he is followed by boys and girls. He dances and
sings to music._)

UNCLE PETER'S SONG.

"Christmas comes but once a year, once a year, once a year! So
follow me, my children dear, children dear, children dear: So
follow me, my children dear, on Christmas Eve so joyful!"

(_After dancing, he takes_ EMILY _and_ MARY _by the hand, and runs off
with them, followed by the rest._)

As this is Emily's first play, and she is only nine years old, I hope
the critics will not be too severe upon it. If well performed, it will
be found, I think, far more amusing in the acting than in the reading.

BABY'S PINK THUMBS.

The snow had quite covered the ground,
The wind whistled fiercely and chill,
When a poor little storm-beaten bird
Flew down on the broad window-sill.

Within, there was comfort and wealth;
Gay pictures half covered the wall;
The children were happy at play;
And the fire shone bright over all.

Without, there was famine and frost;
Not a morsel of fruit or of grain;
And the bird gave a piteous chirp,
And tapped with his beak at the pane.

Then baby climbed up on a chair,
Forgetting his trumpets and drums:
He doubled his two little fists,
And pointed with both his pink thumbs.

"See, see!" and he laughed with delight,
"Pretty bird, pretty bird: here he comes!"
When the bird, with a bob of his head,
Made a peck at the baby's pink thumbs.

Then the children called out with great glee,
"He thinks they are cherries, or plums,
Or pieces of apple; and so
He tries to eat baby's pink thumbs."

"Poor birdie!" said mamma: "we know
That God for his creatures will care;
But he gives to his thoughtfuller ones
The pleasure of doing their share.

"We softly will open the sash,
And scatter a handful of crumbs;
And, when birdie wants breakfast again,
He needn't peck baby's pink thumbs.

"He may come day by day, if he will,
To a f