THE MERRY CHRISTMAS TIME. 
Green were the meadows with last summer’s store ; 
The Maples rustled with a wealth of leaves; 
The brook weut babbling to the pebbly shore. 
Down by the old mill with its cobwebbed door 
And swallow-haunted eaves: 
-And all the air was warm and calm and clear, 
As if cold winter never could come near. 
Now the wide meadow-lands, where then we strolled, 
Are misty with a waste of whirling snow: 
The ruined Maples, stripped of autumn's gold. 
Sigh mournfully and shiver in the cold, 
As the hoarse north-winds blow. 
Tet something makes this frosty season dear, . , . 
The merry, merry, Christmas-time is here. 
The merry Christmas with its generous boards. 
Its fire-lit hearths, and gifts, and blazmg trees, 
Its pleasant voices uttering gentle words. 
Its genial mirth, attuned to sweet accords. 
Its holy memories! 
The fairest season of the passing year. . . . 
The merry, merry, Christmas-time is here. 
The Sumacs by the brook have lost their red; 
The mill-wheel in the ice stands dumb and still; 
The leaves have fallen and the birds have lied; 
The flowers we loved in sunjmcr, all are dead, 
And wintry winds blow chill. 
Yet something makes this dreariness less drear, . , , 
The merry, merry, Christmas-time is here. 
Since last the panes were hoar with Christmas frost 
Unto our lives some changes have beeu given;— 
Some of our barks have labored, tempest-tossed, 
Some of us, too, have loved, and some have lost, 
Some found their rest in heaven. 
So. humanly, we mingle smilo and tear, 
"When merry Christmas-time is drawing near. 
Then pile the fagots higher on the hearth 
And fill the cup of joy, though eyes be dim. 
\Te hail the day that gave our Saviour birth, 
And pray His spirit may descend on earth, 
That we may follow him. 
’Tis this that makes the Christmas-time so dear: 
Christ, in His love for us, seems drawing near. 
George Arnold. 
WILD ASTERS. 
It was a very charming little shopping-bag, and Sadie 
had wanted such an one for a long time. "When she 
discovered it on her dressing-table her birthday morn¬ 
ing, it pleased her more than all her other presents com¬ 
bined, though some were far more valuable. 
Later in the day she said to her mother: 
Now mother, you know—and if you don’t, I do— 
that the very first time I carry this bag I’ll leave it 
somewhere, as sure as sin.” 
“Yes; but, Sadie, you’re old enough to be more care¬ 
ful.” 
“Very true, mother, but then I’m not; and I never 
shall be, I very much fear.” 
“ Perhaps if you lose this it will be a lesson you will 
remember.” 
■“ But I don’t intend to lose it, even if I do leave it; for 
I mean to have my full address engraved on this silver 
plate, instead of simply initials.” 
She had it engraved that afternoon, and displaying it 
in triumph, said: 
“ There mother! see that! Now he who runs may 
read : Sadie M. Farnham, Pleasantville, Maine.” 
“Yes, perhaps somebody will read it whom you won’t 
wish to,” responded the mother sagely. 
“ O, I shall keep that side toward me when I carry 
it.” 
The last of September she went to visit her most inti¬ 
mate friend, Laura McQuisten, lately married, and liv¬ 
ing in Ohio. Laura’s former home had been in Sadie’s 
own village; and knowing Laura’s fondness for the Wild 
Purple Aster which bordered all their road-sides, nest¬ 
ling beside the Golden-rod, she gathered a large bunch 
of them to carry to her friend, with but one gorgeous 
spray of Golden-rod in their midst. 
Her brother Harry found a pleasant seat for her in 
the car, and handing her the bag and flowers, he said: 
“ There ! these are almost equal to a big box, little 
box, bandbox and bundle.” 
“ Now, Harry! you know father says that I’m a 
finished traveler. I never burden myself or any one 
else with luggage.” 
“ You’ll get sick enough of those flowers before you 
get there; they’ll be all withered, any way.” 
“ No, they won’t; for I shall put fresh water on the 
cotton every little while.” 
“Here are your tickets. Take care of yourself, and 
don’t get into any scrapes. Good-bye, little sis ; remem¬ 
ber me to Laura.” 
The car was empty save for a few passengers behind 
Sadie, whose faces she could not see. She loved dearly 
to study faces, herself unobserved, and began to wish 
the car would fill up. It did with a rush at the next 
station, eveiy seat soon being full. Just as she was 
wondering who would occupy the seat with her, a 
rather elderly lady, with a slightly troubled expression, 
entered the car and looked anxiously up and down the 
rows of seats. She approached Sadie somewhat timid¬ 
ly, but Sadie lifted the flowers from the seat beside her 
and said brightly, “ You can sit here if you like, 
madam.” The lady—that she was a lady was written all 
