Donahoe's Magazine, Volume 15, No. 1, January 1886

The older heart had time to break
In the little child's long day.

    Katharine Tynan, in Merry England.
When little Willie L. first heard the braying of a mule in the South, he was greatly frightened; but, after thinking a minute, he smiled at his fear, saying, "Mamma, just hear that poor horse with the whooping-cough!"

A Little grammar is a dangerous thing: "Johnny, be a good boy, and I will take you to the circus next year."—"Take me now, pa; the circus is in the present tents."

THE CHRISTMAS TURKEY

Grandfather Patrick lived a long time ago; in the days when all the grandfathers wore white wigs with little tails sticking out behind.

One day he went into the back yard where an old Turkey Gobbler lived, and said to him:

"Mr. Turkey Gobbler: Next week comes Christmas and I want you to come into the house with me, and help us have a good time. You are such a fine, fat fowl, I am sure you will be just the one we want."

Mr. Turkey Gobbler was a vain bird, and when he heard Grandfather Patrick say this, he spread out his tail, stuck up his feathers, and stretched his wings down to the ground. Then he said: "Yes, I know I am a fine fowl, and I want to get away from this low, mean yard, into the grand house, among grand people, where I think I belong."

"And so you shall," said Grandfather Patrick. "You shall leave this cold yard and come in to the stove where it is warm. You shall come to the table with us all on Christmas Day. You shall be at the head of the table, and the boys and girls will be glad to see you, and they will say how fat you are, and how good you are, and how they wish they could have you at the table every day."

Mr. Turkey Gobbler was so pleased at all this that he went into the house with Grandfather Patrick and Aunt Bridget.

And all the little chickens looked on, and they said to each other: "Why cannot we go into the grand house, and come to the table the same as Mr. Turkey Gobbler? We are just as fine as he."

"Be patient," said Grandfather Patrick; "your time will come."

THE CHRISTMAS STOCKING

"Dear Santa Claus," wrote
little Will in letters truly
shocking, "I's been a good
boy, so please fill a heapen
up this stocking. I want
a drum to make pa sick
and drive my mamma cra-
zy. I want a doggie I can
kick so he will not get
lazy. I want a powder
gun to shoot right at my
sister Annie, and a big
trumpet I can toot just
awful loud at granny. I
want a dreffle big false
face to scare in fits our ba-
by. I want a pony I can
race around the parlor,
maybe. I want a little
hatchet, too, so I can do
some chopping upon our
grand piano new, when
mamma goes a-shopping.
I want a nice hard rub-
ber ball to smash all
into flinders, the
great big mirror
in the hall an'
lots an' lots of
winders. An'
candy that'll
make me
sick, so ma
all night will
hold me an'
make pa get the
doctor quick an'
never try to scold
me. An' Santa Claus,
if pa says I'm naughty
it's a story. Jus' say
if she whips me I'll
die an' surely go to
glory."

THE CHRISTMAS CRIB

From the French of J. Grange, by Th. Xr. K

There still subsist, in certain provinces of France, old religious customs which are full of charming simplicity. May they endure and ever hold out against the icy breath of skepticism, the cold rules of the beautiful, and the wearisome level of uniformity.

In the churches of Limousin, between Christmas and the Purification, is found a rustic monument called crib. The crib is generally a straw hut, thatched with branches of holly and pine; on these branches are scattered little patches of white wadding, which look like snowflakes. Inside the house, on a bed of straw, lies an Infant Jesus made of wax. All these Infants look alike and are charming; they have blond hair, blue eyes, pink cheeks, and a silk or brocade gown, with gold and silver spangles. To the right of the Child is the Blessed Virgin; to the left, St. Joseph. These are of wax or even of colored pasteboard. A little behind the Holy Family, and forming two distinct groups, may be seen the kings and the shepherds. The shepherds are like peasants of that part of the country, with long hair, big felt hats, and blue drugget vests. Most of them carry in their hands, or in baskets, dairy or farm presents,—fruits, eggs, honey-comb, a pair of doves. As for the kings, they are superbly clothed in long gowns, whose trail is carried by dwarfs. One of them, called the king of Ethiopia, is black and has kinky hair.

In certain cribs, simplicity and exactness are pushed to such lengths, as to represent the ox and the ass, with the rack full of hay. There may be also seen, but less frequently, in the kings' group, camels and dromedaries, covered with rich harness, and led by the bridle by slaves. If you want to do things right and leave nothing out, you must skilfully arrange above the crib a yellow-colored glass in which burns a flame, which represents the star that the Magi perceived and which stopped over the grotto at Bethlehem. Candles and tapers burn before the crib, which is surrounded by some pious women, and a number of children, who never grow weary of admiring the Holy Family and its brilliant retinue.

I was one day in a church where there was one of these cribs. I was hidden by a column and was a witness, without any wish of mine, of the impressions which the little monument made on visitors.

A gentleman, a stranger in the locality, entered the church with a young lady, about eighteen years of age, who seemed to be his daughter. The gentleman took off his hat, put on a smoking cap, and began to visit the church with as much carelessness of demeanor as though it were a provincial museum. The young lady dipped the tips of her fingers in the holy water, sped through a short prayer, and hastened to rejoin her father, with whom she began to chat and laugh.

When they came in front of the crib, the father adjusted his eye-glasses, the daughter took her opera-glass, and for a few minutes they gazed on this scene, new to them.

After gazing a little while, the gentleman shrugged his shoulders and asked:

"What are all those dolls?"

"Papa," replied the daughter, "that is the Stable of Bethlehem, and a simple representation of the birth of Jesus Christ."

"Simple?" exclaimed the father, "you're indulgent to-day, Azémia; you should say grotesque and buffoonish; that it should be possible to push bad taste so far! It is not enough that their mysteries are incomprehensible; here they're trying to make them ridiculous!"

"Goodness, papa," said the young lady; "just think! for the common people and peasants"—

"I tell you, Azémia, that it is absurd and shocking, and that the peasants and the natives themselves must laugh at it. Let us go! I feel myself catching cold here, and dinner must be ready."