Part 3

Five small stockings hang below; Five small stockings in a row. From his pocket blithe St. Nick Fills the waiting stockings quick; Some with sweetmeats, some with toys, Gifts for girls, and gifts for boys, Mounts the chimney like a bird, And the bells are once more heard.

Santa Claus! Good Christmas saint, In whose heart no selfish taint

Findeth place, some homes there be Where no stockings wait for thee, Homes where sad young faces wear Painful marks of Want and Care, And the Christmas morning brings No fair hope of better things.

Can you not some crumbs bestow On these Children steeped in woe; Steal a single look of care Which their sad young faces wear; From your overflowing store Give to them whose hearts are sore? No sad eyes should greet the morn When the infant Christ was born.

BARBARA'S COURTSHIP.

'Tis just three months and eke a day, Since in the meadows, raking hay, On looking up I chanced to see The manor's lord, young Arnold Lee, With a loose hand on the rein, Riding slowly down the lane. As I gazed with earnest look On his face as on a book, As if conscious of the gaze, Suddenly he turned the rays Of his brilliant eyes on me. Then I looked down hastily, While my heart, like caged bird, Fluttered till it might be heard. Foolish, foolish Barbara!

We had never met before, He had been so long away, Visiting some foreign shore, I have heard my father say. What in truth was he to me, Rich and handsome Arnold Lee? Fate had placed us far apart; Why, then, did my restless heart Flutter when his careless glance Fell on me by merest chance? Foolish, foolish Barbara!

There are faces--are there not?-- That can never be forgot. Looks that seen but once impress With peculiar vividness. So it was with Arnold Lee. Why it was I cannot say That, through all the livelong day He seemed ever near to me. While I raked, as in a dream, Now the same place o'er and o'er, Till my little sister chid, And with full eyes opened wide, Much in wonder, gently cried, "Why, what ails thee, Barbara?"

I am in the fields again; 'Tis a pleasant day in June, All the songsters are in tune, Pouring out their matin hymn. All at once a conscious thrill Led me, half against my will, To look up. Abashed I see His dark eyes full fixed on me. What he said I do not know, But his voice was soft and low, As he spoke in careless chat, Now of this and now of that, While the murmurous waves of sound Wafted me a bliss profound. Foolish, foolish Barbara!

Am I waking? Scarce I know If I wake or if I dream, So unreal all things seem; Yet I could not well forego This sweet dream, if dream it be, That has brought such joy to me. He has told me that he loves me,-- He in rank so far above me; And when I, with cheeks aglow, Told him that it was not meet He should wed with one so low, He should wed with one so low, Then he said, in accents sweet, "Far be thoughts of rank or pelf; Dear, I love thee for thyself!" Happy, happy Barbara!

THE CONFESSION.

I am glad that you have come, Arthur, from the dusty town; You must throw aside your cares, And relax your legal frown. Coke and Littleton, avaunt! You have ruled him through the day; In this quiet, sylvan haunt, Be content to yield your sway.

It is pleasant, is it not, Sitting here beneath the trees, While the restless wind above Ripples over leafy seas?

Often, when the twilight falls, In the shadow, quite alone, I have sat till starlight came, Listening to its monotone. Yet not always quite alone,-- Brother, let me take the place Just behind you now the moon Shines no longer in my face.

It is near two months ago Since I met him, as I think, By God's mercy, when my horse Trembled on the river's brink. I had fallen, but his arm Firmly seized the bridle-rein, And, with one decided grasp, Drew me back to life again. I was grateful and essayed Fitting words my thanks to speak. Arthur, when the heart feels most, Words, I think, are oftenest weak.

So I stammered and I fear, What I said had little grace But I knew he understood, By the smile upon his face. There are faces--his was such-- That are sealed when in repose; Only when a smile floods out, All the soul in beauty glows. With that smile I grew content, And my heart grew strangely calm, As with trustful step I walked, My arm resting on his arm.

Brother, turn your face away, So, dear, I can tell you best All that followed; but be sure You are looking to the west. Arthur, I have seen him since, Nearly every day, until If I lose him, all my life Would grow wan, and dark, and chill. Brother, this my love impute Not to me for maiden-shame; He has sought me for his wife, He would crown me with his name. Only yesterday he said That my love his life would bless: Would I grant it? Arthur, dear, Was I wrong in saying "Yes"?

ROSE IN THE GARDEN.

THIRTY years have come and gone, Melting away like Southern Snows, Since, in the light of a summer's night, I went to the garden to seek my Rose.

Mine! Do you hear it, silver moon, Flooding my heart with your mellow shine? Mine! Be witness, ye distant stars, Looking on me with eyes divine!

Tell me, tell me, wandering winds, Whisper it, if you may not speak-- Did you ever, in all your round, Fan a lovelier brow or cheek?

Long I nursed in my heart the love, Love which felt, but dared not tell, Till, I scarcely know how or when-- It found wild words,--and all was well!

I can hear her sweet voice even now-- It makes my pulses leap and thrill-- "I owe you more than I well can pay; You may take me, Robert, if you will!"

One pleasant summer night, the garden walks alone, Looking about with restless eyes, Wondering whither my Rose had flown,

Till, from a leafy arbor near, There came to my ears the sound of speech. Who can be with Rose to night? Let me hide me under the beach.

It must be one of her female friends, Talking with her in the gloaming gray; Perchance--I thought--they may speak of me; Let me listen to what they say.

This I said with a careless smile, And a joyous heart that was free from fears; Little I dreamed that the words I heard Would weigh on my heavy heart for years.

"Rose, my Rose! for your heart is mine," I heard in a low voice, passion-fraught, "In the sight of Heaven we are truly one; Why will you cast me away for naught?