* * * * *

A Letter from Santa Claus.

By WILLIAM HOWARD.

(A little girl is seated with her slate and pencil. A postman's whistle is heard, and she exclaims, "There is the letter-man!" She runs to the door and returns with a large envelope, made of white wrapping-paper sealed with red wax, which she tears open, announces it is written by Santa Claus to the pupils of the school, and then reads it aloud. In the last verse the names of the children present are to be substituted for the printed ones.)

Merry Christmas! little children, From my home so far away Send I loving Christmas greetings To you on your holiday.

You may watch and wait till midnight, Looking at the falling snow, But be sure you won't discover When I come or when I go.

For I come when all is silent, Not a breath will then be heard, And I softly through the chimney Enter, saying not a word.

Quickly to the stockings step I, And I place in every one Something for the Christmas frolic, Something for the Christmas fun.

Hark! my reindeer out the window, Prance and shake a warning note; Santa Claus will speed away then, Wrapping close his cap and coat.

Your surprise, when comes the morning, Gladness which your bright eyes tell, Grateful, merry, happy children, Pleases Santa Claus full well.

Willie, Alice, Harry, Mary, Christmas greetings now I send. Cora, Freddie, Sadie, Johnnie, Don't forget Santa Claus, your friend.

* * * * *

The Christmas We Like.

By ELLA M. POWERS.

(A recitation for two primary children.)

First pupil: Just a little stocking, Very small indeed. Hang it by the chimney, Santa Claus will heed.

Then on Christmas morning I will run and see All the lovely presents He has left for me.

Second pupil: I never think that Christmas Is quite so full of joy, Unless I find a poor child And give her a nice toy.

For don't you know at Christmas We must be happy then, And love to do for others As Christ did to all men.

* * * * *

Saint Nick.

By M.N.B.

(For the youngest pupil to recite.)

When cold the winds blow, And comes the white snow, Then look out for good Saint Nick. He comes in a sleigh From miles, miles away, And vanishes very quick.

* * * * *

Merry, Merry Christmas.

(Over the platform against the wall hang the words "Merry, Merry Christmas." They may be simply made of dark-colored pasteboard twelve inches high, or the cardboard may be covered with red berries and evergreen. The five children who recite in turn point to the words whenever they speak them.)

First child: Oh! "merry, merry Christmas," Blithely let us sing, And "merry, merry Christmas," Let the church-bells ring. Lo! the little stranger, Smiling in the manger Is the King of Kings.

Second child: Oh! "merry, merry Christmas," Weave in fragrant green, And "merry, merry Christmas," In holly-berries' sheen. Opened heaven's portals, That by favored mortals Angels might be seen.

Third child:: Oh! "merry, merry Christmas," Carol bright and gay, For "merry, merry Christmas" Is the Children's day; Morning stars revealing Shepherds humbly kneeling Where the Christ child lay.

Fourth child: Oh! "merry, merry Christmas," Day of sacred mirth; Oh! "merry, merry Christmas," Sing the Saviour's birth. Christ, the high and holy, Once so meek and lowly, Came from heaven to earth.

Fifth child: Oh! "merry, merry Christmas," Shout the happy sound, Till "merry, merry Christmas," Spreads the world around; Wonderful the story, Unto God may glory Evermore abound.

Carine L. Rose, in Good Housekeeping.

* * * * *

Christmas Questions.

BY WOLSTAN DIXEY.

(At the three last words the speaker raises her finger impressively.)

How old is Santa Claus? Where does he keep? And why does he come when I am asleep? His hair is so white in the pictures I know, Guess he stands on his head all the time in the snow. But if he does that, then why don't he catch cold? He must be as much as,—most twenty years old. I'd just like to see him once stand on his head, And dive down the chimney, as grandmother said. Why don't his head get all covered with black? And if he comes head first, how can he get back? Mamma knows about it, but she wont tell me. I shall keep awake Christmas eve, then I can see. I have teased her to tell me, but mamma she won't, So I'll find out myself now; see if I don't.

* * * * *

A Catastrophe.

BY SUSIE M. BEST.

If old Kriss Kringle should forget To travel Christmas eve, I tell you now, I think next day The little folks would grieve.

There wouldn't be a single toy, A single box or book, And not a bit of candy in Their stockings when they'd look

Because, you see, Kriss Kringle has A "corner" on these things, 'Tis he, and he alone, who in The night our presents brings.

Then let us all try to avert This sad catastrophe, And hope Kriss Kringle may at least Remember you and me.

* * * * *

A Christmas Gift.

By MABEL L. PRAY.

It seems that dear old Santa Claus One day in old November Received a note from Dottie D—, With words and phrases tender, In which she asked the dear old man With many words of warning, To bring her a new Paris doll On the next Christmas morning.

Just as he started for his sleigh One eve, in old December, He turned to Mistress Santa Claus And said, "Did you remember About that fine new Paris doll For wee Dot in the city? I must not fail to take that gift, 'Twould be a dreadful pity."

It was early in the morning, One day in old December; A very happy, joyous day That children all remember, When Santa, on his mission fleet, To the nursery came creeping, And left the fine new Paris doll Among the others, sleeping.

The holly and the mistletoe Were bright this winter morning; One stocking filled from top to toe The mantel was adorning. A Christmas tree hung full with gifts, While underneath, reposing On an upholstered rocking chair, The Paris doll was dozing.

Then suddenly from out the gloom Dot's other dolls came peeping, Their hair uncombed, their dresses torn, And noses red with weeping; They talked in whispers soft and low, But tones that grew quite scornful, About the fate that was to greet This stranger, sad and mournful.

There were Annabel and Bessie, That came one cold December; They hobbled round with broken backs From falling on the fender. Then Tommy, Grace, and baby Ruth, All came one birthday party, And Rose and Don a year ago, With Santa Claus so hearty.

They all assembled round the tree, And then with manners shocking They pinched and shook the Paris doll, And cried in words so mocking— "Why, don't you know, you stupid thing, Dot won't care for another, She has received this Christmas morn A dear, sweet baby brother!"

* * * * *

A Christmas Thought.

(To be recited with careful regard to smoothness, without a sing-song effect.)

Oh Christmas is coming again, you say, And you long for the things he is bringing; But the costliest gift may not gladden the day, Nor help on the merry bells ringing Some getting is losing, you understand, Some hoarding is far from saving; What you hold in your hand may slip from your hand, There is something better than having; We are richer for what we give; And only by giving we live.

Your last year's presents are scattered and gone; You have almost forgot who gave them; But the loving thoughts you bestow live on As long as you choose to have them. Love, love is your riches, though ever so poor; No money can buy that treasure; Yours always, from robber and rust secure, Your own, without stint or measure; It is only love that we can give; It is only by loving we live.

For who is it smiles through the Christmas morn— The Light of the wide creation? A dear little Child in a stable born, Whose love is the world's salvation. He was poor on earth, but He gave us all That can make our life worth the living; And happy the Christmas day we call That is spent, for His sake, in giving; He shows us the way to live, Like Him. Let us love and give!

—Lucy Larcom

* * * * *

A Merry Christmas Eve.

It chanced upon the merry, merry Christmas eve I went sighing past the church across the moorland dreary: "Oh! never sin and want and woe this earth will leave, And the bells but mock the wailing round, they sing so cheery. How long, O Lord! how long before Thou come again? Still in cellar, and in garret, and on moorland dreary The orphans moan, and widows weep, and poor men toil in vain, Till earth is full of hope deferred, though Christmas bells be cheery."

Then arose a joyous clamor from the wild fowl on the mere, Beneath the stars, across the snow, like clear bells ringing, And a voice within cried: "Listen!—Christmas carols even here! Though thou be dumb, yet o'er their work the stars and snows are singing. Blind! I live, I love, I reign; and all the nations through With the thunder of my judgments even now are ringing; Do thou fulfill thy work, but as yon wild fowl do, Thou wilt hear no less the wailing, yet hear through it angels singing."

—Charles Kingsley.

* * * * *

The Christmas Stocking.

In the ghostly light I'm sitting, musing of long dead Decembers, While the fire-clad shapes are flitting in and out among the embers On my hearthstone in mad races, and I marvel, for in seeming I can dimly see the faces and the scenes of which I'm dreaming.

O golden Christmas days of yore! In sweet anticipation I lived their joys for days before Their glorious realization; And on the dawn Of Christmas morn My childish heart was knocking A wild tattoo, As 'twould break through, As I unhung my stocking.

Each simple gift that came to hand, How marvelous I thought it! A treasure straight from wonderland, For Santa Claus had brought it. And at my cries Of glad surprise The others all came flocking To share my glee And view with me The contents of the stocking

Years sped—I left each well-loved scene In Northern wilds to roam, And there, 'mid tossing pine-trees green, I made myself a home. We numbered three And blithe were we, At adverse fortune mocking, And Christmas-tide By our fireside Found hung the baby's stocking.

Alas! within our home to-night No sweet young voice is ringing, And through its silent rooms no light. Free, childish step is springing. The wild winds rave O'er baby's grave Where plumy pines are rocking And crossed at rest On marble breast The hands that filled my stocking

With misty eyes but steady hand I raise my Christmas chalice; Here's to the children of the land In cabin or in palace; May each one hold The key of gold, The gates of glee unlocking, And hands be found The whole world round To fill the Christmas stocking

Clarence H. Pearson in The Ladies' Home Journal.

* * * * *

Christmas Hymn.

(During this recitation let the piano be played very softly in running chords that resolve into the key of a Christmas carol which is taken up and sung by the entire school at the end of the poem.)

Sing, Christmas bells! Say to the earth this is the morn Whereon our Saviour King is born; Sing to all men-the bond, the free, The rich, the poor, the high, the low, The little child that sports in glee, The aged folk that tottering go,— Proclaim the morn That Christ is born, That saveth them and saveth me!

Sing angel host! Sing of the stars that God has placed Above the manger in the east. Sing of the glories of the night, The Virgin's sweet humility, The Babe with kingly robes bedight,— Sing to all men where'er they be This Christmas morn For Christ is born, That saveth them and saveth me!

—Eugene Field.

* * * * *

Bells Across the Snow.

(This poem may be recited by one pupil, or divided as follows:)

First pupil: Christmas, merry Christmas! Is it really come again? With its memories and greetings, With its joys and with its pain There's a minor in the carol, And a shadow in the light, And a spray of cypress twining With the holly wreath to-night. And the hush is never broken By laughter, light and low, As we listen in the starlight To the "bells across the snow."

Second pupil: Christmas, merry Christmas! 'Tis not so very long Since other voices blended With the carol and the song! If we could but hear them singing As they are singing now, If we could but see the radiance Of the crown on each dear brow; There would be no sigh to smother, No hidden tear to flow, As we listen in the starlight To the "bells across the snow."

Third pupil: O Christmas, merry Christmas! This never more can be; We cannot bring again the days Of our unshadowed glee. But Christmas, happy Christmas, Sweet herald of good will, With holy songs of glory, Brings holy gladness still. For peace and hope may brighten, And patient love may glow, As we listen in the starlight To the "bells across the snow."

—F.R. Havergal.

* * * * *

Christmas Eve.

Outside my window whirls the icy storm, And beats upon its panes with fingers white; Within, my open fire burns bright and warm, And sends throughout the room its ruddy light.

Low on the hearth my good grimalkin lies, His supple, glossy limbs outstretched along; Now gently sleeps with softly closed eyes, Now, half awakened, purrs his even-song.

Near to the fire, touched by its gentle heat, A silent, welcome friend, my armchair stands. Its cushioned depths invite me to its seat, And promise rest for weary head and hands.

Within its depths mine eyes unheeded close, And comes to me a vision wondrous sweet. Such sights and sounds no wakeful hours disclose As then my resting, dreaming senses greet.

I am where gentle shepherds on the plain Keep sleepless, faithful watch o'er resting sheep; I hear them chant the Psalmist's sweet refrain, That Israel's God will sure his promise keep.

Then quick the air is full of heav'nly song, And radiant light illumines all the ground, While angel voices sweet the strain prolong, And angel faces shine in glory round.

I see the shepherds' faces pale with fear, Then glow with joy and glad surprise, for then "Glory to God!" from angel lips they hear, And "Peace on earth good will to men."

And then the light marks out a shining way, And swift the shepherds are the path to take. I long to go! O laggard feet, why stay? Alas! the vision fades, and I awake.

Within, the smold'ring fire is burning dim; Without, the whirl and beat of storm have ceased. I still can hear the angels' peaceful hymn, And know the vision hath my peace increased.

—Frank E. Broun in The Outlook.

* * * * *

The Little Christmas Tree.

The Christmas day was coming, the Christmas eve drew near, The fir-trees they were talking low at midnight cold and clear And this is what the fir-trees said, all in the pale moonlight, "Now which of us shall chosen be to grace the holy night?"

The tall trees and the goodly trees raised each a lofty head. In glad and secret confidence, though not a word they said But one, the baby of the band, could not restrain a sigh— "You all will be approved," he said, "but, oh! what chance have I?"

Then axe on shoulder to the grove a woodman took his way. One baby-girl he had at home, and he went forth to find A little tree as small as she, just suited to his mind.

Oh, glad and proud the baby-fir, amid its brethren tall, To be thus chosen and singled out, the first among them all! He stretched his fragrant branches, his little heart beat fast, He was a real Christmas tree; he had his wish at last.

One large and shining apple with cheeks of ruddy gold, Six tapers, and a tiny doll were all that he could hold.

"I am so small, so very small, no one will mark or know How thick and green my needles are, how true my branches grow; Few toys and candles could I hold, but heart and will are free, And in my heart of hearts I know I am a Christmas tree."

The Christmas angel hovered near; he caught the grieving word, And, laughing low, he hurried forth, with love and pity stirred. He sought and found St Nicholas, the dear old Christmas saint, And in his fatherly kind ear rehearsed the fir-tree's plaint.

Saints are all-powerful, we know, so it befell that day, The baby laughed, the baby crowed, to see the tapers bright; The forest baby felt the joy, and shared in the delight.

And when at last the tapers died, and when the baby slept, The little fir in silent night a patient vigil kept; Though scorched and brown its needles were, it had no heart to grieve. "I have not lived in vain," he said; "thank God for Christmas eve!"

—Susan Coolidge.

* * * * *

The Russian Santa Claus.

By LIZZIE M. HADLEY.

Over the Russian snows one day, Upon the eve of a Christmas day, While still in the heavens shone afar, Like a spark of fire, that wondrous star, Three kings with jewels and gold bedight Came journeying on through the wintry night.

Out of the East they rode amain, With servants and camels in their train. Laden with spices, myrrh, and gold, Gems and jewels of worth untold, Presents such as to-day men bring, To lay at the feet of some Eastern king.

Wrinkled and feeble, old and gray, Dame Babousca, that Christmas day, Looked from her hut beside the moor, Where the four roads crossed by her cottage door, And saw the kings on their camels white, A shadowy train in the wintry night.

They knocked at her cabin door to tell That wonderful story we know so well, Of the star that was guiding them all the way To the place where the little Christ-Child lay, And they begged that she, through the sleet and snow, To the nearest village with them would go.

But naught cared she for that unknown Child, And winds about her blew fierce and wild, For the night was stormy, dark, and cold, And poor Babousca was weak and old, And in place of the pitiless winter's night, Her lowly hut seemed a palace bright.

So to their pleadings she answered "Nay," And watched them all as they rode away. But when they had gone and the night was still, Her hut seemed lonely, and dark, and chill, And she almost wished she had followed them In search of the Babe of Bethlehem.

And then as the longing stronger grew, She said, "I will find Him," but no one knew, Where was the cradle in which He lay When He came to earth upon Christmas day, For the kings and their trains were long since gone, And none could tell of the Babe, new born.

Then filling a basket with toys, she said, As over the wintry moor she sped, "I will go to the busy haunts of men, There I shall find the kings, and then, Together we'll go that Child to meet, And jewels and toys we'll lay at His feet.

The kings with their trains have long been clay. The hut on the moor has mouldered away, But old and feeble, worn and gray, Every year upon Christmas day, It matters not though the winds blow chill, Old Babousca is seeking still.

And every year when the joy-bells chime, To tell of the blessed Christmas time, When in Holland they tell to the girls and boys, Of good Saint Nicholas and his toys, In Russia, the little children say, "Old Babousca has passed this way."

* * * * *

A Christmas Garden.

(A prose recitation, or suggestion for composition.)

There is a story told of a magician who conjured up a garden in the winter time. The wand of the wizard, however, is not necessary to disclose even in a northern climate in the cold months the beautiful contents of Nature's world. The varieties of evergreen, pine, hemlock, fir, cedar, and larch provide a variety of green foliage through the dreary weather. The rich, clustering berries, besides their ornamental character, furnish food for the snowbirds. The Christmas rose, wax-like in its white purity, will bloom out of doors long after frost if a glass is turned over the plant on cold nights. The ivy remains glossy, its green berry another addition to our winter bouquet.

Farther south, but still within our United States, the scarlet holly grows in luxuriance. So full of holiday association is this tree that its branches are carefully transported a thousand miles for use during Christmas week. Its crisp leaves, lively color, and happy sentiment make the holly, pre-eminent as a winter ornament, prince in our Christmas garden.

A contrast is furnished by the delicate sprays of the mistletoe growing upon the limbs of the oak, elm, and apple trees. The white berry attaches itself, curiously enough, without roots of any kind, and becomes an enduring plant.

* * * * *

A Christmas Carol.

"What means this glory round our feet?" The Magi mused, "more bright than morn?" And voices chanted clear and sweet, "To-day the Prince of Peace is born!"

"What means that star?" the shepherd said, "That brightens through the rocky glen?" And angels answering overhead, Sang, "Peace on earth, good will to men!"

'Tis eighteen hundred years and more Since those sweet oracles were dumb; We wait for Him, like them of yore; Alas, He seems so slow to come!

But it was said, in words of gold. No time or sorrow e'er shall dim, That little children might be bold In perfect trust to come to Him.

All round about our feet shall shine A light like that the wise men saw, If we our loving wills incline To that sweet Life which is the Law.

So shall we learn to understand The simple faith of shepherds then, And clasping kindly hand in hand, Sing, "Peace on earth, good will to men!"

And they who do their souls no wrong, But keep at eve the faith of morn, Shall daily hear the angel-song, "To-day the Prince of Peace is born!"

J.R. Lowell

* * * * *

The Power of Christmas.

Even under the pressure of battle the influence of the Christmas season has exerted a powerful effect. In 1428, during the war of the roses, while Orleans was under siege, the English lords, history tells us, requested the French commanders to suspend hostilities, and let the usual celebration of Christmas eve take their place. This was agreed to, and the air was filled with the song of the minstrels and the music of trumpets, instead of the discordant sounds of battle.

* * * * *

Peace on Earth.

(Recitation for a high-school pupil.)

The shepherds went their hasty way, And found the lowly stable shed Where the Virgin-Mother lay; And now they checked their eager tread, For to the Babe that at her bosom clung A mother's song the Virgin-Mother sung.

They told her how a glorious light, Streaming from a heavenly throng, Around them shone suspending night, While, sweeter than a mother's song, Blest angels heralded the Saviour's birth, Glory to God on high and Peace on Earth.

She listened to the tale divine, And closer still the Babe she prest; And while she cried, The Babe is mine! The milk rushed faster to her breast; Joy rose within her like a summer's morn; Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born.

Thou Mother of the Prince of Peace, Poor, simple, and of low estate! That strife should vanish, battle cease, O why should this thy soul elate? Sweet music's loudest note, the poet' story— Didst thou ne'er love to hear of fame and glory?

And is not War a youthful king, A stately hero clad in mail? Beneath his footsteps laurels spring; Him Earth's majestic monarch's hail Their friend, their playmate! and his bold bright eye Compels the maiden's love-confessing sigh.

'Tell this in some more courtly scene, To maids and youths in robes of state! I am a woman poor and mean, And therefore is my soul elate. War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled, That from the aged father tears his child!

"A murderous fiend, by fiends adored, He kills the sire and starves the son; The husband kills, and from her hoard Steals all his widow's toil had won; Plunders God's world of beauty; rends away All safety from the night, all comfort from the day.

"Then wisely is my soul elate, That strife should vanish, battle cease; I'm poor and of a low estate, The Mother of the Prince of Peace. Joy rises in me like a summer's morn; Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born."

—S.T. Coleridge.

* * * * *

The Christmas Tree.

(Recitation for a boy to give before a Christmas tree is dismantled.)

Of all the trees in the woods and fields There's none like the Christmas tree; Tho' rich and rare is the fruit he yields, The strangest of trees is he. Some drink their fill from the shower or rill; No cooling draught needs he; Some bend and break when the storms awake, But they reach not the Christmas tree. When wintry winds thro' the forests sweep, And snow robes the leafless limb; When cold and still is the ice-bound deep, O this is the time for him. Beneath the dome of the sunny home, He stands with all his charms; 'Mid laugh and song from the youthful throng, As they gaze on his fruitful arms. There's golden fruit on the Christmas tree, And gems for the fair and gay; The lettered page for the mind bears he, And robes for the wintry day. And there are toys for the girls and boys; And eyes that years bedim Grow strangely bright, with a youthful light, As they pluck from the pendant limb.

* * * * *

Old English Christmases.

The court celebrations of Christmas were observed with great splendor during the reign of King Charles the First. The royal family, with the lords and ladies, often took part themselves in the performances, and the cost to prepare costumes and sceneries for one occasion often amounted to ten thousand dollars. During Charles's reign, and preceding his, Ben Jonson wrote the plays, or masques, for Christmas. The court doings were, of course, copied outside by the people, and up to the twelfth night after Christmas, sports and feastings held high carnival.

So important were these Christmas court celebrations held by our ancestors, and of such moment were the preparations, that a special officer was appointed to take them in charge. To him were accorded large privileges, very considerable appointments, and a retinue equal to a prince's, counting in a chancellor, treasurer, comptroller, vice-chamberlain, divine, philosopher, astronomer, poet, physician, master of requests, clown, civilian, ushers, pages, footmen, messengers, jugglers, herald, orator, hunters, tumblers, friar, and fools. Over this mock court the mock monarch presided during the holidays with a reign as absolute as the actual monarch.

* * * * *

Holly and Ivy.

(Noel is the French word for Christmas.)

Holly standeth in ye house When that Noel draweth near; Evermore at ye door Standeth Ivy, shivering sore, In ye night wind bleak and drear.

"Sister Holly," Ivy quoth, "What is that within you see? To and fro doth ye glow Of ye yule-log flickering go; Would its warmth did cherish me! Where thou bidest is it warm; I am shaken of ye storm."

"Sister Ivy," Holly quoth, "Brightly burns the yule-log here, And love brings beauteous things, While a guardian angel sings To the babes that slumber near; But, O Ivy! tell me now, What without there seest thou?"

"Sister Holly," Ivy quoth, "With fair music comes ye Morn, And afar burns ye Star Where ye wondering shepherds are, And the Shepherd King is born: 'Peace on earth, good will to men,' Angels cry, and cry again."

Holly standeth in ye house When that Noel draweth near; Clambering o'er yonder door, Ivy standeth evermore; And to them that rightly hear, Each one speaketh of ye love That outpoureth from Above.

—Eugene Field.

* * * * *

Holiday Chimes.

(When it is impossible to prepare a regular Christmas program for the friends of the pupils to enjoy with the school, the entrance to holiday week may be signalled by the impromptu reading and recitation of Christmas sentiments.)

CHRISTMAS DAY.

Feathery flakes are falling, falling From the skies in softest way, And between are voices calling, "Soon it will be Christmas day!" —Mary B. Dodge.

OLD DECEMBER.

With snowy locks December stands 'Mid sleet and storm; his wasted hands A frosty scepter grasp and hold; His frame is bent, his limbs are old; His bearded lips are iced and pale; He shivers in the winter gale. Come then, O day of warm heart-cheer, Make glad the waste and waning year, While old December shivering goes To rest beneath the drifted snows!

—Benj. F. Leggett.

CHRISTMAS-TIDE.

O happy chime, O blessed time, That draws us all so near! "Welcome, dear day," All creatures say, For Christmas-tide has come.

—L.M. Alcott

CHRISTMAS EVE.

The time draws near the birth of Christ: The moon is hid; the night is still; The Christmas bells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist.

Rise, happy morn! rise, holy morn! Draw forth the cheerful day from night: O Father! touch the east, and light The light that shone when hope was born.

—Alfred Tennyson

FATHER CHRISTMAS.

Here comes old Father Christmas, With sound of fife and drums, With misteltoe about his brows, So merrily he comes!

Hurrah for Father Christmas! Ring all the merry bells! And bring the grandsires all around To hear the tale he tells.

—Rose Terry Cooke

CHRISTMAS IN ENGLAND.

Well our Christian sires of old Loved when the year its course had rolled, And brought blithe Christmas back again, With all his hospitable train.

* * * * *

England was merry England when Old Christmas brought his sports again. 'Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale; 'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale, A Christmas gambol oft could cheer The poor man's heart through half the year.

—Sir Walter Scott.

MUSIC OF CHRISTMAS.

What do the angels sing? What is the word they bring? What is the music of Christmas again? Glad tidings still to thee, Peace and good will to thee Glory to God in the highest!

—F.R. Havergal.

A CHRISTMAS WISH.

A bright and blessed Christmas Day, With echoes of the angels' song, And peace that cannot pass away, And holy gladness, calm and strong, And sweetheart carols, flowing free! This is my Christmas wish to thee.

—F.R. Havergal.

THE FIRST CHRISTMAS.

Where love takes, let love give, and so doubt not: Love counts but the will, And the heart has its flowers of devotion No winter can chill; They who cared for "good will" that first Christmas Will care for it still.

—A.A. Procter.

ONCE A YEAR.

At Christmas play and make good cheer, For Christmas comes but once a year.

—Tusser.

OLD ENGLISH SONG.

When Rosemary and Bays, the poet's crown, Are bawled in frequent cries through all the town, Then judge the festival of Christmas near,— Christmas, the joyous period of the year! Now with bright holly all the temples are strow; With Laurel green and sacred Mistletoe.

OLD FATHER CHRISTMAS.

Old Father Christmas is passing by, His cheeks are ruddy, he's bright of eye; His beard is white with the snows of time. His brow is hoary with frost and rime. It's little he cares for the frost and the cold, For old Father Christmas he never grows old.

EVERGREEN AND HOLLY.

Bring the evergreens and holly, Bring the music and the song, Chase away the melancholy, By the pleasures bright, and jolly, Which to Christmas time belong.

—E.O. Peck

* * * * *

Christmas Dolls.

By ELIZABETH J. ROOK.

Children come skipping in, singing:

"Here we come with our Christmas dolls Christmas dolls, Christmas dolls, Here we come with our Christmas dolls, Wouldn't you like to see them?"

(Tune—"Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush.")

The children then form a semi-circle on the stage, and each one steps to the front as she gives her recitation, and then back to her place again.

First Child:

This is my Christmas dolly; Her name is French—Celeste; And of my many children, She is the very best. This dress, you see, is finest silk, Her shoes are dainty kid, And underneath this cunning hat Her pretty curls are hid. And do I love my precious doll? Well, I just guess I do (hugging it)! I'll love her even when she's old As well as while she's new.

Second Child:

When I awoke on Christmas morn I jumped right out of bed, And ran into the nursery, And not a word I said, Until I saw my Christmas tree, And then I laughed in glee; For on it hung this pretty doll; I knew it was for me, And so I took it in my arms And kissed its lovely face. And then I said, "Now, dolly dear, I'm going to call you Grace."

Third Child (Black doll):

This is Miss Lucindy Ann— And though she's black as jet She's just as good as any doll To love, and hug, and pet. I found her in my stocking, dressed In this gay calico, With bright bandanna on her head, And orange ribbon bow. I think she's very pretty, And I guess that you do, too; And don't you wish that I would give Lucindy Ann to you?

Fourth Child (Japanese doll):

I wrote a note to Santa Claus, And this is what I said: "Please bring to me a brand-new doll; The last you brought is dead." And so on Christmas morning I found this Jappy here, It made me laugh to see her, She looked so very queer. But I said to her politely, "Good morning, Miss Yum-Yum. This, you know, is Christmas day; I'm very glad you've come."

Fifth Child (Rag doll):

My dolly did not come from France, Nor faraway Japan; She's neither Spanish, Dutch nor Swiss, She's just A-mer-i-can. I know she is not beautiful, Nor very finely dressed, But I don't care for that—I think American dolls are best.

Sixth Child (Eskimo):

My dolly is an Eskimo From near the Arctic Sea; Kris Kringle brought her in his sleigh On Christmas eve for me. She always wears this dress of fur, Because where she was born It is so very, very cold, No light clothes can be worn. But when she's been with me awhile I think I'll make a change And dress my doll in colors bright; Then she'll not look so strange.

Seventh Child (Holding a Teddy bear behind her):

Now you all think your dolls are fine. Of that I'm well aware; But I have one to beat them all— For mine's a Teddy bear (holding it up). He doesn't wear a fancy dress, He likes his coat of brown, And he is just as handsome As any doll in town. I like to hold him in my arms, And rock him in my chair, Because he looks so cunning— My little baby bear.

Eighth Child (Doll dressed as infant):

My doll's so very sleepy She can't hold up her head; She's just a wee, small infant, And it's time she was in bed. Your dollies all look sleepy, too, And so I'm going to say, "Let's sing our little lullaby And carry them away."

SONG.

(Tune—"There is a Happy Land.")

(To be sung very slowly and softly.)

Here comes the old Sand Man, Close, close your eyes; He'll catch you if he can, So now be wise. Then while you sweetly sleep, Angels their watch will keep, Bright stars will o'er you peep Down from the skies.

(Tiptoe softly off the stage, holding the dolls as though asleep, and humming the tune very faintly.)

* * * * *

Red Pepper.

BY A. CONSTANCE SMEDLEY.

CHARACTERS.

Princess Fadeaway.

Greening, Sweeting, Ladies to the Princess.

The Kitchenmaid.

The Cooklet.

Red Pepper, the scullion (Prince Fairasday).

Head Cook.

Frip, Tip, Snip, Pip, Brownies.

Chorus of Cooks and Brownies, if desired.

TIME. Christmas Eve.

SCENE: The Kitchen in the Castle of Princess Fadeaway. Open fireplace down R. in which the fire burns, and casts a red light on the scene. Dresser against wall L. on which stands a pile of dirty plates, tin basin and soap, various culinary utensils, and a huge pepper-pot. Door up back L. Table centre, which is spread with white cloth, bordered with a quaint design. An old-fashioned wooden armchair R. of fireplace. Door up R. Stool by dresser. Chair behind table. As the curtain rises, the stage is quite dark, lit by a faint gleam from fireplace. Mysterious music, which resolves itself into the air of "Whist, whist, whist. Here Comes the Bogie Man." The Brownies heard singing behind the scenes. They dance in one by one mysteriously round stage, in follow-my-leader fashion, over chair and stool, and crawl under table, round and round room as they sing.

OPENING CHORUS. (Air: "Whist, whist, whist! Here Comes the Bogie Man!")

Brownies:

Whist, whist, whist! Here comes the Brownie man! The Christmas pie is made to-night! We'll steal it if we can. Whist, whist, whist! The scullions will be fled! Oh, what a time we'll have to-night When everyone's in bed.

(Enter Frip dramatically L.)

Frip: Whist!

Brownies: Frip! (All prostrate themselves, touching ground with their foreheads.)

Frip: The deed is done! The scullions all are packing!

Brownies: Oh, noble Frip!

Tip: How did you manage it?

Frip (seating himself on arm of chair. Brownies sit on floor centre, facing him, sideface to audience): I bellowed so—Oooooooh!!!! (groans) and tweaked their ugly noses, and whispered through the keyhole, "Wait till you guard the Christmas pie to-night!" until they all fled shivering to the cook, to give him notice! And now none will be left to guard the pie!

Brownies: 'Tis ours! 'Tis ours! (Brownies rub themselves delightedly.)

Frip: Hush! Now the kitchenmaid and cooklet come, to make all ready for his highness the head cook! We must leave them in peace until the pie is made! But then—

Brownies: We'll steal it! (Singing.)

Whist, whist, whist! Here comes the Brownie man, The Christmas pie is made to-night We'll steal it if we can! Whist, whist, whist! The scullions will be fled! Oh! what a time we'll have to-night When everyone's in bed!

(They dance off R. Music changes to a bright march. Enter the Kitchenmaid and Cooklet. The Kitchenmaid is a short, fat, rosy, brisk little girl. The Cooklet is a lanky, lazy, sentimental-looking girl. The Kitchenmaid carries pasteboard, with pie-disk, rolling-pin, basin of pastry, mince meat, etc., and enters staggering under her burden. The Cooklet carries a small basin with three apples and a knife, and eats apples as she peels them.)

Kitchen: Oh, my eye and Betty Martin! What a pie we're going to make to-night! Now look sharp, Cooklet, and peel the apples, for the head cook will be here in half a minute, and the Princess, too, to give the final stir-about; and if things aren't ready for her, we shall have our heads chopped off. Oh, dearie, dearie, dearie, dear! (Takes apples from Cooklet and peels them briskly.)

Cooklet (sitting on stool, yawning): Ah, it's all very well for the Princess! Nothing to do but eat and sleep all day. I wish I were she!

Kitchen: My word! I thank my stars I'm not! There she sits all day with those stuck-up ladies, who rule her and fool her and manage her and bully her till she can't call her soul her own! And all the nice young princes who come riding to the castle are sent away without getting so much as a peep at her, because her ladies are so afraid she'll marry one, and then their turned-up noses would be out of joint!

Cooklet: They tell the princes that the Princess is too weary to be troubled with them!

Kitchen: Trouble, indeed! She'd find it no trouble to choose a sweetheart from those nice young men if she were allowed to see them, but she'll never do that, if her ladies have a word in the matter! (Furious talking outside.)

Kitchen: Oh dearie, dearie, dearie, dear! If it isn't the head cook! And oh, my stars, what's happened?

(Enter Head Cook, angrily. Kitchenmaid and Cooklet both stand trembling with fright.)

Head Cook: Nevaire did I hear such impertinence. Who has gone, do you sink? Who has packed up their traps and left me to-night—to-night of all nights! Ze night I make ze Christmas pie! Ze night ze Princess comes with all her ladies to give ze final stir-about! Who? Vat? Ven? Vy? Vy?? vy???

Cooklet and Kitchen (falling on their knees, clasping their hands entreatingly): O sir, pray calm yourself!

Head Cook (dancing about with rage, and shouting): Calm! I am nevaire so perfectly calm in my life! My scullions have gone! Zey vill not vatch ze pie! Because zey fear ze Brownies!

Kitchen: The scullions gone?

Cooklet: Then who's to guard it?

Head Cook: You—of course—you earthworms!

Both: O dear, kind cook, we daren't! (They grovel with fear.)

Head Cook (thunderously): Daren't?

Cooklet: We're afraid of the dark!

Kitchen: And oh, we're afraid of the Brownies!

Head Cook: Afraid—afraid—but vat is zere to be afraid? If ze Brownies come, you have only to sprinkle zem with ze magical red pepper!

Cooklet: I should faint directly I saw them!

Kitchen: O dear, good, handsome, gentle cook, please don't leave us alone down here to-night!

Head Cook (almost speechless with rage): But vat you vant? Do you mean to say—you—vant—Me—so gr-r-r-reat—so gr-r-rand—so mightiful—Me—Chief Head Cook—you vant zat I should keep my eyes avake all night—ven I have a kitchenmaid and cooklet to suffaire for me? Is zat vat you mean, heh?

(They nod sheepishly.)

Cooklet: You're a man!

Head Cook: Me—a man! Vat nonsense! I am cook! You have ze most enormous cheek I've ever hit upon! Bah! (Hits them with rolling-pin.) Get up—you cr-r-r-rawling caterpillars! (Knock at the door; they scream.) Vat! now you make a noise, you squeaking beetles!

Kitchen: There's some one at the door. (They stand trembling.)

Cooklet: Oh, it sounds like a man!

Head Cook (excitedly): A man—my scullions—they have retur-r-rned to me!

Cooklet: The scullions! Saved! (Runs to door R; opens it.)

Kitchen: Oh, it's only a beggar! Be off! (About to shut door.)

Prince (outside): Nay, mistress, I come in search of work!

(Enter Prince Fairasday, disguised in ragged tunic. He is red-haired, and very handsome.)

Cooklet: Work! O sir, here is a scullion for you!

Head Cook: Tut, tut, tut! Zat is for me to say, impertinence! You may come in, young man. (Prince comes down stage. Cook seats himself importantly at table.) Now! Why have you come so late to ask for work?

Prince: I lost my way in the forest.

Cook: Sir! Say, "Sir" ven you spik to me if you do not say "Most Royal Sir." Vatever you like—but do be respectful.

Prince (furious): Sir!!!!!

Head Cook: Zat is better—

Prince: Nay—sir—I—meant—

Head Cook: It does not matter vat you mean so long as you say, "Sir." Now answer, if you wish for a place here! You do—eh?

Prince: Why—why, yes!

Head Cook: Ver' good. Zen vere is your last place?

Prince: I lived in the castle of Prince Fairasday—(Cook raps on table, annoyed.) Eh?

Head Cook (shouting furiously): Sir!

Prince: Oh—oh, yes, I beg your pardon (humbly, laughing), sir.

Head Cook: Vell, zen, I must know vy you leave.

Prince: Why—sir—my master has fallen in love with the Princess Fadeaway—and so I thought I would come and see what sort of a princess she was—for my master in his love-sick fever is sad company for any one.

Head Cook: But if he is so in lof, vy does not your master come to woo the Princess?

Prince: Why, sir (bowing), he had heard of too many who had been denied admittance, and as my master is proud and determined, he made up his mind he would not risk being turned away like the others. But, sir, if you will let me stay and work for you, in whatever post, however humble, I promise you if my answers do not satisfy, my service shall.

Head Cook: You are villing—ah, but zey all say that. H'm—let me see what you can do. Vash up these. (Points to dirty plates.)

Prince: Those! Why, that is scullion's work!

Head Cook: Yes, and there is a scullion's place all ready.

Prince (indignantly): A scullion! I had meant a place with horses—in the garden—where I might work out-of-doors.

Kitchen: O dear, kind young man, pray, pray do not speak like that.

Cooklet: Oh, we beseech you, take the place! (Both fall on knees before him.)

Prince: Why, what's the matter?

Kitchen: If there's no scullion here we have to guard the Christmas pie, and if we guard the pie we d-d-die!

Prince: What danger threatens you?

Both: The Brownies!

Prince: Brownies! What are Brownies?

Head Cook: Vy, vat sort of kitchen have you lived in, if you have never seen ze Brownies?

Prince: Oh, I was more like a friend than a page to my master, sir, and the fact is, I've never been in a kitchen before. Er—what are Brownies?

(Brownies cackle with laughter outside.)

Head Cook: Zey are ze evilest leetle beasts in all ze vorld! Venever you sink you are rid of zem, zere zey are at your elbow. (Brownies laugh again.) Vey steal, zey pinch, zey poke, zey pry, and at night, ven all ze house is still, zey come out, and if you do not keep your eyes ver' wide awake zey vill pinch you till you die—zat is, ven you guard the Christmas pie.

Prince: I? Oh, this pleasant little job is meant for me—me? I thank you, sir? (Indignantly takes up his cap, preparing to go.)

Head Cook: Not so fast, young man. Zey will come, yes; zey vill try to steal, yes—but zere is vun sing zat vill send them avay quick—slick—like zat. It is—RED PEPPER!

Prince: Red Pepper! How dare you call me that?

Head Cook: Eh?

Prince: Who told you I was called Red Pepper?

Head Cook: You?

Prince: Why, yes. Did you not mean me?

Head Cook: Why no. I mean red pepper, from the pepper-pot (taking it off shelf).

Prince: Strange, for that's the name by which I'm known among my people. Why—sir—how can red pepper help me against the Brownies.

DUET (Cook and Prince).

(Air: "There Lived a King, as I've Been Told."—The Gondoliers.)

Cook: Now very hard it is to make A Brownie his bad ways forsake, For it's a fact he takes the cake, If he can't find the candy! And if you clap your hands and shoo, He'll only make a face at you; There's only one thing you can do— Just keep the pepper handy! For, as a Brownie hates to sneeze, Or blow his nose if it should tease, Or any wholesome acts like these, He can't abide Red Pepper!

Prince: Yet that's the name that's given me, For, as you all can plainly see, My hair is red as red can be— In fact it's fiery scarlet! And as my hair, my temper is; So if a page my hair should quiz, I waste no time, but straight pull his, And thrash the saucy varlet! So that is why the name I've got, And as, when I am waxing hot I frequently dismiss the lot, They can't abide Red Pepper!

(A dance can be arranged here with Prince, Cook, Kitchenmaid and Cooklet.)

Kitchen: Ah, sir, you will be brave and take the place?

Cooklet: Oh, yes, dear, brave, kind handsome man! Say, "Yes," and calm our fluttering hearts!

Kitchen: For if we saw a Brownie we should only scream!

Cooklet: And die!

Prince: Why, then, if there's no choice save between myself and you poor maids, why—I must do it. So, sir, I'll guard your pie to-night.

Cooklet: O dear, good, kind young man!

Kitchen: O noble, bold young man! (Both kneel gratefully.)

Head Cook: Get up, I say, get up! You kneel to me—not to zis beggar fellow! And you, sir, get these dishes washed quick, slick, for here ze Princess Fadeaway is coming with her ladies!

Prince: The Princess coming! (He is agitated.)

Head Cook: Yes. Every Christmas night she comes to pat ze crust wiz her own fair fingers!

Prince: Then I shall see her!

Head Cook: Yes—but you need not let zat discompose you—she vill not notice you. It is only to me she vill spik! Because I am Head Cook! I am like royalty—only more so. She comes—she comes—let each be in your place! Now bow, all bow!

(A graceful march played. Enter Princess Fadeaway, attended by Greening and Sweeting. The Princess is a sweet-voiced, gentle little girl. Her ladies are gorgeously attired, and walk and talk in a disagreeable, affected manner.)

Head Cook: Welcome, Princess; the pie awaits your pleasure!

Princess: Good! (She comes to the table, sees Prince, who starts, and drops dishes. He stands staring at her; does not pick dishes up.)

Princess: Why—who is this strange gentleman—

Head Cook (shocked): Hush—hush—Your Highness, it is only the new scullion!

Princess (amazed): Scullion!

Greening: O Princess, how could you take that ragged creature for a gentleman?

Sweeting: I think he looks too fierce for safety. Look how the jackanapes eyes Your Highness!

Princess: He is, indeed, in sorry plight.

Prince: Sorry, indeed, if my rags offend Your Highness—

Greening: Address yourself to us, fellow! 'Tis not for such as you to speak to the Princess!

Prince: Nay, I am in her service, ladies, and it is her I answer if she desires to question me!

Greening: Insolent! I'd have him put in the stocks.

Sweeting: Or whipped at the whipping-post!

Princess: Peace, ladies! I would hear him. How is it you are not in my livery, if you are in my service?

Prince: I have but just this moment reached the castle. I have been traveling in the forest, where the wolves and brambles alike delayed me.

Princess: The wolves? Oh, they have hurt you

Ladies (trying to stop her): Your Highness!

Princess: But see—his wrist is bleeding. I am sure it hurts you! Let me bind it for you (to Prince).

Greening: Princess! how can you stoop to touch a scullion?

Sweeting: Your Highness is strangely forgetting yourself!

Princess: Nay, ladies, it is you who forget yourselves!

DUET (Princess and Prince).

(Air, "When We Are Married."—Belle of New York.)

Princess: You should be thinking what you can do To help the people who live to serve you! Though I'm a princess, plainly I see I must act kindly to those who serve me!

Prince: Long was my journey, I'm weary and sore, But such a princess I've ne'er seen before! Nothing I ask for, save only to be Here in the castle, my Princess to see!

Princess: Though I am a princess, plainly I see, I must act kindly to those who serve me!

Prince: Nothing I ask for, save only to be Here in the castle, my Princess to see!

(The Princess binds up his wrist up stage.)

Greening (furiously to Head Cook): How did you come to engage such a scurvy-looking fellow?

Head Cook: Of a truth, madame, I vould not have done so, madame, but my scullions have all gone, and I had none to guard ze Christmas pie to-night!

Sweeting: The Christmas pie!

Head Cook: Yes, madame, from ze Brownies. He has consent, now I have told him of ze pepper-pot.

Greening: The pepper-pot! You may go, fellow!

(The Cook retires up back, annoyed; bullies Kitchenmaid and Cooklet, R. Prince and Princess center, making pie. Prince helps her. Head Cook furious.)

Greening: Listen, I have an idea! That man is no scullion!

Sweeting: No scullion?

Greening: I am sure of it! See how he holds himself! How easily he talks with the Princess! I believe he is some prince who has made his way into the castle in disguise—

Sweeting: Yes, look! His sword peeps out beneath his rags! When did a scullion ever wear a sword? Oh, what are we to do?

Greening: I told you I had an idea. (To dresser.) He is to watch the pie to-night! We'll take the pepper-pot!

Sweeting: But they'll see us!

Greening: Not if you stand before me!

(Sweeting stands before Greening, holding out her dress while Greening reaches down pepper-pot from dresser.)

Greening: Now when the Brownies come, he'll find his sword will be of little use! See, let us make the Princess come, or she will talk all night!

Sweeting: Your Highness—

Greening: Your Highness!

Sweeting: If Your Highness is quite finished, I pray that Your Highness will not tarry longer in this odious kitchen! The heat is overpowering!

Greening: And I could never stand the smell of raw pastry!

Sweeting: So if Your Highness has quite finished—

Princess (regretfully): Oh, dear, I suppose I must go then! And you will guard the pie to-night! You are sure you are not afraid!

Prince: Afraid! Of course not! If the Brownies come I have the pepper-pot!

Greening (vindictively, aside, and holding the pepper-pot): Have you. (To Princess) Princess, I faint for want of sleep!

Sweeting: And I expire! (Yawning) I droop—I yawn!

Princess: Yes, I see you do! As you're so sleepy, I must consider you and go to bed (sighing). But oh, I shall be glad when morning comes (to Prince), and I am sure you're safe again!

(Graceful march again played. The Princess goes out, followed by ladies; she turns at door, and looks at Prince and sighs, then exit followed by Greening and Sweeting. The Prince stands gazing after her.)

Head Cook: Come, come, come, young man; 'tis time the lights were out and other folk in bed besides Her Highness! And if, instead of staring after her, you'd lend a hand and set the kitchen straight, it would be more seemly.

(Cook, Kitchenmaid and Cooklet bustle about, putting cooking things away from table, leaving only pie.)

Prince (dreamily): Eh? Did you speak?

Head Cook: Shall I tell you what it is? Your head is turned right around! When royalty speaks to me, do I swell out? No! I know my place! I take no notice! But you—you are nosing but a crawling—snail!

Prince: Why, sir, I've been engaged to guard the Christmas pie, and not to listen to your rating, so the sooner you are off to bed the better am I pleased!

(Lights candles and hands them to Cooklet and Kitchenmaid.)

Head Cook (furious, spluttering with rage): Vat—vat—vat—how dare you?

Kitchenmaid: O dear, good, kind young man, how can we leave you? (Both tearfully fall on knees.)

Cooklet: Oh, pray, dear, good young man, be careful.

Kitchen: Yes, dashing, bold young man—don't—don't be careless! (Both howl loudly).

Head Cook: Hussies! Arise! You concern yourselves much too much for zis young man! I cannot sink why so much notice should be taken of a scullion! Yes! (To Prince.) 'Twere better fit I should have told your tale unto Her Highness; and if she questioned you, it was for you to bow and say, "My gr-r-racious master, ze Head Cook, vill spik for me!" In future—please—r-r-remember! (Exit, with dignity, followed by Kitchenmaid and Cooklet. The Brownies cackle with laughter outside. The stage is now dark, lit only by firelight.)

Prince: And so my lady sleeps above, and I am in the kitchen, her humblest scullion! Well, at least I have the chance to serve her now, and guard the dainty pie her dainty fingers touched! (Brownies cackle outside.) What's that? The rats, perhaps, that scutter in the wainscot. Still, if the Brownies come, I'd best have the pepper-pot. If they come—there's little fear of that! I've never seen a Brownie, and what I've never seen, I own, I've little faith in. (Yawning, sitting in armchair.) Well, as I'm to stay all night here, I might as well make myself at ease! (Yawning again.) Oh, dear; I'm very sleepy. (Stretches himself.)

SONG.

(Air: "Little Dolly Daydream.")

Prince: Now every one has gone to rest, To guard the pie I'll do my best; But all are sleeping, No one's peeping; To take a little nap myself were best. And if by chance the Brownies come, The pepper-pot will drive them home. For if I should be sleeping, I'm sure to hear them creeping, And then I can wake up before they come. Little sleeping Princess now I'll dream of thee! So sweet you be, And soon you'll see That I love you, darling, tenderly. Little sleeping Princess, dream of me!

(Prince sleeps in armchair. Soft music outside. Enter Brownies, mysteriously, to the air: "Whist! whist! whist!")

Brownies (pianissimo): Whist! whist! whist! Here comes the Brownie man! To catch the rascal sleeping Is now our little plan. We'll tie the nasty scullion fast And pinch him till he's sore. The Christmas pie is ours at last; The waiting time is o'er.

Frip (softly): As we are so full of fun, Ere the feasting is begun, For a pleasant little game We will make him blind and lame.

Snip: Pull his hair and poke his eyes— Anything we can devise.

Tip: Kick him till he's black and blue.

Pip: Run with pins his fingers through.

Frip: And, because he's dared to scoff, We will pull his toe-nails off!!!

(They surround Prince. He wakes.)

Prince: Why, what's this? (Rising) The Brownies! Where's the pepper-pot! (To dresser) Gone! (Brownies cackle.)

Frip: Now you cannot sprinkle us. It's no use to make a fuss!

(Brownies dance about impishly.)

Tip: Yes! In vain you squeal and cry. We shall eat the Christmas pie!

Snip: Proud you may be, as Mazeppa! But we only fear RED PEPPER!

DUET (Prince and Brownies).

(Air: "There Lived a King."—The Gondoliers.)

Prince: If that is so, you'd better trot, For if you stay you'll get it hot! I swear that I will thrash the lot For I'm the Prince, Red Pepper!

Brownies (cowering, afraid): Now if we stay, we plainly see That very soon there'll ructions be! Observe his hair, how fi-er-y! Oh, yes! He's a high-stepper! And, though he cannot make us sneeze, His sword will tickle and will tease; I think the pie we'd better seize, And run from this Red Pepper!

(Music. Brownies seize pie.)

Prince: Now, put that pie down straight away, Or very rude things I shall say, And run you through and through I may If I become excited!

Brownies (consulting together by table): I really think he means it, too! Now what on earth are we to do? We do not care to be run through! (Howling pitifully)We don't like being fighted.

Prince: If that is so, I think you'll see You'd better kneel at once to me, And humbly beg for clemency! For so is vice requited!

Brownies (repeating chorus, kneeling round Prince): Oh, yes, dear sir, we plainly see That we had better kneel to thee, And humbly beg for clemency! For so is vice requited!

Prince (brandishing sword): Now, one, two, three, and off you fly, Or ev'ry one of you shall die!

(Brownies scream, and are about to run off as enter Princess R. with pepper-pot.)

Prince: Princess! What brings you here?

Princess: They took the pepper-pot away from you! I found it underneath my ladies' pillow, because they sneezed so much it wakened me. But, oh, I see you have not needed it!

Brownies: Oh, no, no, no! Pray, do not pepper us! (Brownies turn and kneel to Princess imploringly.)

Prince: And you came to save me?

Princess: Is it not my duty to protect my scullions?

Prince: Princess, I am no scullion (throws off ragged cloak.) This was a disguise to help me gain admittance to your castle! It was the only way in which I could find a means to woo you. But my name's Prince Fairasday—or, if you like, or as my servants say—Red Pepper. Am I forgiven?

Princess: Oh, yes, indeed you are! (He embraces her.) In the strictest confidence I don't mind telling you I'm longing to be married and get away from all these girls!

Prince: Then we'll be married in the morning!

Princess: As soon as you like—Oh (screams), my ladies! Look, they're coming!

(Enter Sweeting, Greening, Kitchenmaid, Cooklet and Head Cook, in nightgowns and nightcaps, with candles. Stage light. The candles may be blown out. Prince and Princess stand in center; Brownies kneel before them humbly, backs to audience; Head Cook, Kitchenmaid and Cooklet, R. of Princess and Prince. Greening and Sweeting disgusted L.)

FINALE. Cook, Kitchenmaid, Cooklet, Sweeting, Greening (as they enter):

CHORUS. (Air: "Bogie Man.")Dear, dear, dear! Now, what is all this fuss? And what's the Princess doing here? It really puzzles us!

Brownies: She came to save her scullion, And found a Prince instead. And we are kneeling down because He nearly killed us dead!

DUET (Prince and Princess). (Air: "When We Are Married.")

Princess: Now all is over, you will agree The moral is plain as a moral can he: If you act kindly, rewarded you'll be. Have a prince for your husband, and end happily!

CHORUS. (Air: "There Lived a King.")

Prince: And boys must be both brave and strong, And ever quick to right the wrong; And now, ere I conclude my song, I'll speak of pepper quickly! For pepper stirs and brisks you up, And makes you more inclined to sup, And seasons many a loving cup Which else would be too sickly!

Brownies: And though we are not killed quite dead, With honest shame we hang our head, And much regret the lives we led, Before we met Red Pepper!

FULL CHORUS. So now our little play is done, Before you people homeward run, We hope to hear from every one That you have liked Red Pepper!

(CURTAIN.)

* * * * *

A Game of Letters.

MERRY CHRISTMAS.

BY ELIZABETH J. ROOK.

(For fourteen little ones. Each has a large card, his letter printed on it in bright colors. As he recites, he holds it up in plain view, but drops it to his side at the close of his recitation. S takes his place to the Right, the others following in the order here given until a straight line is formed.)

S We have a game of letters Which we're going to show to you, And each will name his letter As he holds it up to view. I have an S—a crooked S, It stands for sugar sweet.

A And here's an A for apple pie.

M And M for good mince meat.

T T stands for turkey, fat and brown, We have on Christmas day.

S And here is S for Santa Claus, And also for his sleigh.

I I stands for icicles and ice,

R And R for reindeer gay.

H H stands for home and happiness,

C And C for Christmas day.

Y And next in line comes letter Y; It stands for youth and you; We couldn't do without it, It's in the New Year, too.

R I have an R, it stands for Right, And I will hold it high;

R And mine I'll place beside it, For R also have I.

E I like the letter E the best, For what is Earth without it? And Everything begins with E— Does anybody doubt it?

M I hold in hand a great big M, It suits me to a T; M stands for mother, money, too, And, yes, it stands for me.

(All now stand close together and hold their letters at the same height. Then the following lines may be given in concert or spoken by the leader [S] alone.)

Now if you read our letters down From left hand to the right, You'll find a Christmas greeting For one and all to-night.

Then beginning at the the left, each child may name his letter—

M-E-R-R-Y C-H-R-I-S-T-M-A-S.

(Exit.)

* * * * *

Under the Christmas Tree.

A DOLLYDRAMA.

BY ARTHUR GUITERMAN.

TIME: Christmas Eve. CHARACTERS: Arabella, a heartless French doll; Koko, a melodramatic Japanese doll; Jackski-in-the-Boxovitch, the Muscovite Mystery. SCENES: The children's room. A Christmas tree, properly decorated, L. A box or hamper with a hinged cover, large enough to contain Jack, center. An entrance, R. Arabella is costumed as a lady doll should be. Koko is attired in Japanese style, either old or modern military, and wears a sword. Jack should have abundant black hair and beard and should be provided with a gilded club. When the curtain rises, Arabella is discovered seated under the Christmas tree, eating comfits. The action should be stiff-jointed and doll-like throughout.

Arabella (rising): Oh, marvelous is Nature! Only see How bounteous the spreading Christmas tree That bears upon its branches sugar-plums, With candy canes and baskets, balls and drums And trumpets, whistles, candles, pop-corn strings, And countless kinds of gilt and tinsel things! Beneath its shade I'll sit me down a while And read, an idle moment to beguile, These tender letters penned by suitors three Who seek my hand—What can they see in me? (Seating herself, she takes out three letters, opening one.) That sailor doll! He talks of foreign lands And sings; but I can't bear his tarry hands! Besides, 'tis rash to trust these roving men. (Tearing the letter.) So, Bobbie Shafto, go to sea again. (She opens another letter.) Poor Koko! How that soldier boy does tease! To tell the truth, I like that Japanese: But, no! 'twould never do. I can't afford To wed a doll with nothing but a sword. (She sighs, folds the letter, and opens the third.) A crest! The Marquis!—Yes, he's dull, alas! But think!—the Marchioness of Carabas!

(Rising, she marches majestically R. Koko enters hurriedly. He throws himself at her feet and seizes her hand.)

Koko: Hail, Arabella. (She draws away.) Nay, be not so nice! Though I said "Hail!" yet do not turn to ice. That chilly manner fairly makes one freeze. Behold me down upon my Japan knees! He bends to thee who never knelt before! Thou art my all.

Arabella (aside): Oh, sawdust! What a bore!

Koko: One word from thee would lift me to the skies. Pray speak that word!

Arabella: I'll try to, sir. Arise!

Koko: Nay, mock me not! You know the word I mean.

Arabella: Oh, Captain Koko! please don't make a scene.

Koko: What! Do you spurn me?

Arabella (soothingly): Now, I wouldn't care To put it that way. Captain, don't despair! That German doll would make a model wife. But, frankly, I don't fancy army life.

Koko: Ha! scorned! I know what brings it to this pass. That stupid Marquis—he of Carabas. False girl, beware! You'll find, ere years have rolled, That honest steel is better far than gold. Farewell! (Exit tragically.)

Arabella: Good-by! Drop in some night for tea. (She stands L. of box, musing.) I wonder what an "honest steal" can be! Perhaps he'll soon return to make it clear. I hope he does; it's awful lonely here.

(Jack springs up in the box, holding his gilded club in his right hand. With his left he seizes Arabella by the hair.)

Jack: Be mine! be mine! I'm handsome, wise and rich; My name is Jackski-in-the-Boxovitch! In token of my boundless wealth, behold This weighty war-club, made of massy gold. My noble castle's built of wood and glue; Within its walls is ample room for two; Then be my bride and all my treasure share! You know, I always fancied auburn hair.

Arabella: Help! help! Oh, save me from this horrid fright!

Jack: Now, don't call names; it's dreadful impolite.

(Re-enter Koko.)

Koko: What cries are these? What horror meets my view? Unhand her, caitiff giant!

Jack: Not for you!

Koko: Then draw! (Unsheathing his sword.)

Jack: I can't. I'm not an artist, man. But I can fight.

Koko:'Tis time then we began.

Jack: Come on!

Koko: Come on!

Jack: Come on! I said it first

Koko: False traitor!

Jack: Feeble pigmy, do your worst!

(They fight. Koko strikes the club from Jack's hand and drives him down into the box.)

Koko: Down! down! In the vile casket whence you sprung Remain, unwept, unhonored, and unsung!

(He picks up the golden war-club.)

Arabella: My hero! (She falls into Koko's arms.)

Koko: Lady, thus the Fates reveal How conquered gold is won by honest steel. The tyrant's hoard is ours; and, if you'll deign To say your Koko's suit is not in vain, Within this lordly castle, warmed by steam, We'll live on sugar, strawberries, and cream.

(Jack pops up with a white handkerchief in one hand and stretches his arms over the pair in front of his box.)

Jack: Bless you, my children!

Koko (hands on sword): What, again!

Jack (waving the handkerchief): Hold, hold! A truce to war! I would a tale unfold; So, never let your angry passions rise. In me you see a fairy in disguise— A kindly fairy. Thus, with open hands, I give to valiant Koko wealth and lands. Fair Arabella! Nature, Fortune, Art, Have made her perfect—lacking but a heart; So let her take, that want to cure, I say, These pleasant tablets, three times every day. (He gives her a handful of heart-shaped sugar-candies which she obediently begins to eat.)Now for your futures: Koko shall belong To Master Lee; and, being very strong, He won't be broken for a month or so. But Arabella,—her I do bestow On Baby Maud. Them shall you serve by day; But oft at night, when toys are tucked away, When all the house is hushed and no one sees, We'll here enact such pleasant plays as these Beneath the Christmas tree. You've held the floor

Arabella and Koko (shutting down the cover): For half an hour, Jack. Don't be a bore!

[QUICK CURTAIN.]

THE END