t, if I might,
To believe in old St. Nicholas, and be a child to-night.

Just to hang my little stocking where it used to hang, and feel
For one moment all the old thoughts and the old hopes o'er me steal.
But, oh! loved and loving faces, in the firelight's dancing glow,
There will never come another like that Christmas long ago!

For the old home is deserted, and the ashes long have lain
In the great, old-fashioned fireplace that will never shine again.
Friendly hands that then clasped ours now are folded 'neath the snow;
Gone the dear ones who were with us on that Christmas long ago.

Let the children have their Christmas--let them have it while they may;
Life is short and childhood's fleeting, and there'll surely come a day
When St. Nicholas will sadly pass on by the close-shut door,
Missing all the merry faces that had greeted him of yore;

When no childish step shall echo through the quiet, silent room;
When no childish smile shall brighten, and no laughter lift the gloom;
When the shadows that fall 'round us in the fire-light's fitful glow
Shall be ghosts of those who sat there in the Christmas long ago.

Nearer Home

One sweetly solemn thought
Comes to me o'er and o'er,--
I am nearer home to-day
Than I've ever been before;--

Nearer my Father's house
Where the many mansions be,
Nearer the great white throne,
Nearer the jasper sea;--

Nearer the bound of life
Where we lay our burdens down;
Nearer leaving the cross,
Nearer gaining the crown.

But lying darkly between,
Winding down through the night,
Is the dim and unknown stream
That leads at last to the light.

Closer and closer my steps
Come to the dark abysm;
Closer death to my lips
Presses the awful chrism.

Father, perfect my trust;
Strengthen the might of my faith;
Let me feel as I would when I stand
On the rock of the shore of death,--

Feel as I would when my feet
Are slipping o'er the brink;
For it may be I am nearer home,
Nearer now than I think.

_Phoebe Cary._

The Minuet

Grandma told me all about it,
Told me so I could not doubt it,
How she danced, my grandma danced, long ago!
How she held her pretty head,
How her dainty skirts she spread,
How she turned her little toes,
Smiling little human rose!

Grandma's hair was bright and shining,
Dimpled cheeks, too! ah! how funny!
Bless me, now she wears a cap,
My grandma does, and takes a nap every single day;
Yet she dance