it is not quite so bad as this, but it
is safe to say that what the children alone expect to receive, in money
value would absorb the national surplus, about which so much fuss is
made. There is really no objection to this--the terror of the surplus is
a sort of nightmare in the country--except that it destroys the
simplicity of the festival, and belittles small offerings that have their
chief value in affection. And it points inevitably to the creation of a
sort of Christmas "Trust"--the modern escape out of ruinous competition.
When the expense of our annual charity becomes so great that the poor are
discouraged from sharing in it, and the rich even feel it a burden, there
would seem to be no way but the establishment of neighborhood "Trusts" in
order to equalize both cost and distribution. Each family could buy a
share according to its means, and the division on Christmas Day would
create a universal satisfaction in profit sharing--that is, the rich
would get as much as the poor, and the rivalry of ostentation would be
quieted. Perhaps with the money question a little subdued, and the female
anxieties of the festival allayed, there would be more room for the
development of that sweet spirit of brotherly kindness, or all-embracing
charity, which we know underlies this best festival of all the ages. Is
this an old sermon? The Drawer trusts that it is, for there can be
nothing new in the preaching of simplicity.

THE RESPONSIBILITY OF WRITERS

It is difficult enough to keep the world straight without the
interposition of fiction. But the conduct of the novelists and the
painters makes the task of the conservators of society doubly perplexing.
Neither the writers nor the artists have a due sense of the
responsibilities of their creations. The trouble appears to arise from
the imitativeness of the race. Nature herself seems readily to fall into
imitation. It was noticed by the friends of nature that when the peculiar
coal-tar colors were discovered, the same faded, aesthetic, and sometimes
sickly colors began to appear in the ornamental flower-beds and masses of
foliage plants. It was hardly fancy that the flowers took the colors of
the ribbons and stuffs of the looms, and that the same instant nature and
art were sicklied o'er with the same pale hues of fashion. If this
relation of nature and art is too subtle for comprehension, there is
nothing fanciful in the influence of the characters in fiction upon
social ma