THE LEGEND OF SAINT SILVERUS. 



There runs an old, old legend, 



A tale of Christmas time, 

 Low breathed round the fireside 



In distant Northern clime; 

 It tells how once an angel 



Looked down in mercy sweet, 

 And bade the people listen 



To hear the Master's feet: 

 "Behold the Christ-child cometh ! 



The King of love is near! 

 Oh! bring your gifts of Noel 



Unto the Lord most dear." 



With golden grain of plenty 



Fair shone each raptured home; 

 The corn crown'd every dwelling 



Whereto the Christ should come 

 And one, a blue-eyed stripling, 



In longing all unknown, 

 With heart aflame had labored 



For gift that God might own: 

 "Behold the Christ-child cometh!" 



Up rose the music blest, 

 And Silverus stood waiting 



With sheaf the richest, blest. 



A tiny bird, nigh fainting, 

 A little trembling thing, 



Through chilling airs of Christmas 

 Drevv near on drooping wing; 



The people raised a clamor, 

 They chased it from the corn, 



They drove it from the garlands 

 That gleamed for Christmas morn 



"Behold the Christ-child cometh!" 

 His praise they fain would win; 



How could they bring to Jesus 

 An offering marred and thin? 



On drooping, dying pinion 



That vainly sought relief, 

 The shivering bird down lighted 



Where shone the proudest sheaf; 

 And Silverus moved softly, 



Though dews all wistful stirred, 

 Close, close within his bosom 



He fed the fainting bird: 

 "Behold the Christ-child neareth!" 



He spake in faltering tone, 

 "The golden ears are broken, 



Yet broken for His own." 



And while the sheaf of beauty 



Grew marred and spent and bare, 

 The sweet bird flew to heaven; 



The King of love stood there: 

 "Oh! tender heart and Christlike, 



Whose yearnings soared on high, 

 Yet could not see, uncaring, 



My weakest creature die! 

 Lo, I am with thee always, 



My Christmas light is thine; 

 The dearest gift of Noel 



Is pity poured for mine!" 



BIRDS GATHERED HIS ALMOND CROP. 



AN ALMOND-GROWER of this 

 locality hit upon a neat device 

 for gathering his crop last fall. 

 His trees bore largely, and this 

 early became known to the yellowham- 

 mers, a species of the woodpecker tribe 

 of birds, and they had regularly stored 

 away large quantities of ripe nuts taken 

 from the orchard in the limb of an oak 

 tree near by. The astute orchardist 

 watched operations, and at last hit upon 

 a novel nut and labor-saving plan, and 

 he lost no time in putting it into ex 

 ecution. 



The limb was sawed from the tree 

 and replaced by a square-shaped fun 



nel, long enough nearly to reach the 

 ground; a bucket was then set under 

 neath. A genuine robbing game then 

 went merrily on. The birds gathered 

 the nuts, which they dropped into the 

 funnel and down into the bucket be 

 low, and as regularly as night came the 

 almond-grower would in his turn 

 empty it of its contents and set it back 

 for a new supply. This was kept up 

 until the entire crop had been gathered 

 and the yellowhammers had departed 

 broken-hearted at the heartless decep 

 tion practiced upon them. Sutler ( Cat.) 

 Enterprise. 



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