Christmas in the Old Log Cabin. 



At 8 o'clock candles were lighted and we ate our lunch. 

 These candles were not the little fancy wax-tapers of today, 

 but the old home-made "six-to-a-pound" tallow candles. There 

 was plenty left from dinner for lunch, and enough for several 

 more such meals. 



After lunch the ox teams and long sleds were brought 

 around to the door, and the families bundled in and wrapped 

 up for the cold ride home. Each sled carried with it a basket 

 full of their Christmas dinner. By 9 o'clock we children were 

 in bed, and in our dreams were living over again that happy 

 Christmas day already numbered among the bygones. 



After all, the true home is a country home ; and happy is 

 the man or woman whose youthful days were passed in the 

 country. Years of city life can never efface the picture, and 

 the luxurious city home can never replace it. 



Many Christmas days have come and gone since that last 

 one on the old farm, but it stands out brighter on memory's 

 page than any of them, and 



"It comes to me often in silence, 



When the firelight sputters low; 

 When the black, uncertain shadows 

 Seem ghosts of long ago." 



Wallace's Farmer. 



94] 



