happened was written in that great Book of the King, and the Recorder neither rested nor grew weary. Indeed, he could not pause, for things kept happening all the time.

Presently a messenger with a torch ran swiftly through the hall, and, stopping by one of the beds, touched the Day who was sleeping there.

"That is the Morning Star," said the Twenty-ninth of February. "It is his business to wake the Days. He is come for Christmas now. The Twenty-fourthChristmas Eve, we nickname him-will be in presently, and one goes as the other comes; else something might happen that we did not see."

Christmas, a cheerful old man with a long white beard, made haste to rise and get ready for his journey. He nodded kindly to Philip, and put out his hand, saying: "Would you like to go with me? A long road, but pleasant. Nobody has so pleasant a road as I have!"

Philip loved him at once; so bidding farewell to his new acquaintance, and casting one look at the solemn Recorder, who was just beginning a new page, he took the old man's hand, and they went out of the palace together. At the threshold they met another old man coming in. "Ah! brother Christmas," said he, "I have left fine weather for you! The world is getting old and dirty; but I carried along a bag full of snow, and whitened it wherever I could!" And with that he hurried in to tell his story to the Recorder, and then to sleep for another year.

A moment more, and they met the Sun. He was not tired. The Sun and the Recorder never are tired. What a glorious face he had! And the light in his hand was so brilliant that it shone for millions of miles. They began their journey far away in the east where all the people bowed down and worshiped the Sun, but paid no attention to Christmas. "That is because they do not know me yet," said the old man. "When they know me, they will welcome us both as friends, but worship the King only. Every time I travel through this

part of the world I look to see if any one has taught them better. I could tell them a story, if I had time, that would open their eyes to the truth, and make them happy and wise. But my business is only to see what happens, and tell the Recorder. Some time or other I shall have it to tell that all men know me, and worship the King. That will be the best news! The Recorder will stop writing for very joy; but not until then."

As they came westward with the Sun, they heard everywhere the sound of chiming bells; and crowds of people were seen, greeting each other merrily and with good wishes, and gathering to give thanks to the King. The face of Christmas brightened, and the Sun made his light as clear as it could be. "These are all friends of mine," said Christmas, "and they worship the King. Every time I come I find more and more of them. It was not always so--for thousands of years I was not Christmas at all. The time when I got my name was the happiest time of my life; and the story that I told the Recorder then is written on the most beautiful page of his book, and the King reads it very often. That was the time when the Prince Emmanuel came down into the world with me. Ever since then I have been Merry Christmas. Do you not think I have good reason to be glad that I, of all the Days in the Palace, should bring the Prince into the world, and hear the angels sing peace on earth and good-will to men?"

While they were thus talking they passed swiftly over many lands, and everywhere the people welcomed them with great joy. The merry smiles of Christmas were reflected in all faces. The chiming of the bells, and the shouts and laughter of the children, and the greetings of neighbors and friends, and happy thanksgivings to the King, filled the air with music. Everywhere the temples and houses were wreathed with green boughs and crosses, and stars of green were set up to remind men of the Prince Emmanuel and the bright morning star that shone over Bethlehem. Old Christmas grew merrier

and merrier. He laughed and sang, and scattered gifts among the people; and they, in their gladness, gave to one another and to the poor; but sweeter than the loudest glee was the tone in which the old man everywhere said: "Remember the Prince and the King and the Glad Tidings." Then they crossed the great sea; and Christmas went on board of every ship they met to bless the sailors and to say: "Remember who made the storm to cease. The Prince was once a sailor too!"

At last they reached the shores of the new land in the West. It was covered with snow, so pure and white that it looked like the new page on which the Recorder will one day write that all men know and serve the King. Presently Philip saw the house where he lived; and before he could bid Christmas good-by, that mischievous little-winged Dream, which had been with him invisibly all the time, lifted him lightly, and flew with him right through the window into his own room. And, lo! his mother stood by him, saying: "Wake up, little boy! Christmas is here."

"O ho!" said Philip, "I guess I know that! I have been round the world with him!"

Whether he really had been journeying or not, I should like to see the philosopher who could tell. But one thing I know that I mean to do all I can to spread the Glad Tidings, so that very soon Father Christmas, in his travels round the world, shall find that all men know him and worship the King; when the Recorder shall cease writing for very joy; and the mirth, and love, and charity of Christmas shall fill also every day in the whole year.

THE NINE SUITORS.

A British ship at anchor lay

In the harbor of New York:
The stevedores were packing her
With Yankee beef and pork.

Nine slim young men went up the plank,
And they were tall and good;

But none of them had ever loved,
They said they never would.
But whether they wouldn't,
Or whether they couldn't,

Or their mothers said they shouldn't
The world will never know.

The passengers were all on board;
The vessel got up steam,
And floated down the river, like
The-ah-something of a dream.
A pretty girl came up on deck,
And near the railing stood:
She never loved a fellow-man,
And said she never would.
But whether she couldn't,
Or whether she wouldn't,

Or her father said she shouldn't,
The world will never know.

The nine young men stood in a row,
Each trying not to stare :

The lady looked embarrassed and
They offered her a chair.

The nine young swells were very rich,
And it was understood
That each of them could marry
Whatever girl he would.

But whether he couldn't,
Or whether he wouldn't,
Or the lady said he shouldn't,
The world will never know.

So things went on as usual.

The weather soon grew thick,

The nine young men were gallant,

The pretty girl was sick;

She certainly was charming,

When they brought her dainty food:

"I'd eat it all, now, really

And truly, if I could."

But whether she couldn't,

Or whether she wouldn't,

Or her appetite said she shouldn't,

The world will never know.

The nine young men came up on deck,
Each in his Sunday clothes,

And went abaft the wheel-house,

In order to propose.

The lady had no preference,

But said that, if she could,
She'd marry every one of them,
But it wasn't any good.

But whether she couldn't,
Or whether she wouldn't,

Or that custom said she shouldn't,
The world will never know.

The lady asked the captain how

She ever should decide.

Said he, "The love of those young men

Should certainly be tried."

So, when they all were present,

She fell into the sea;

And eight of them jumped after her,
The ninth-oh! where was he?

Now whether he couldn't (jump),
Or whether he wouldn't (swim),
Or the captain said he shouldn't (try),
The world will never know.

Once fairly out of the water, she

Went up to him, and said,
"Dear sir, you are a solid man,
And have a level head;
So, without further parley,
Or hint of a pretence,

I agree to marry you, sir,

For you have common sense."
So her father said he couldn't,

And her mother said she wouldn't,
And the captain said he shouldn't—
Refuse to give consent.

AFTER THE OPERA.-BEN WOOD DAVIS.

We stood one night on Beacon street,
Before her family mansion,

While in my heart the throbs of love
Were struggling for expansion.