Hang up the baby's stocking! Be sure you don't forget! The dear little dimpled darling, she never saw Christmas yet! But I've told her all about it, and she opened her big blue eyes; and I'm sure she understood it--she looked so funny and wise. * * * Dear, what a tiny stocking! It doesn't take much to hold such little pink toes as baby's away from the frost and cold. But then, for the baby's Christmas, it will never do at all. Why! Santa wouldn't be looking for anything half so small. * * * I know what will do for the baby. I've thought of the very best plan. I'll borrow a stocking of Grandma's, the longest that ever I can. And you'll hang it by mine, dear mother, right here in the corner, so! And leave a letter to Santa, and fasten it on to the toe. * * * Write--this is the baby's stocking, that hangs in the corner here. You never have seen her, Santa, for she only came this year. But she's just the blessed'st baby. And now before you go, just cram her stocking with goodies, from the top clean down to the toe! FATALLY BURNT IN CHRISTMAS COSTUMES. The Christmastide of 1885-6 was marred by two fatal accidents which again illustrate the danger of dressing for entertainments in highly-inflammable materials. In the first case a London lady, on Boxing Night, was entertaining some friends, and appeared herself in the costume of _Winter_. She was dressed in a white robe of thin fabric, and stood under a canopy from which fell pieces of cotton wool to represent snowflakes, and in their descent one of them caught light at the candelabra, and fell at deceased's feet. In trying to put it out with her foot her dress caught fire, and she was immediately enveloped in flames. So inflammable was the material that, although prompt assistance was rendered, she was so severely burnt as to become unconscious. A medical man was sent for, and everything possible was done for her; but she sank gradually, and died from exhaustion. The second of these tragical incidents plunged a Paris family in deep sorrow. The parents, who lived in a beautiful detached house in the Rue de la Bienfaisance, had arranged that their children and some youthful cousins were to play before a party of friends on New Year's Night on the stage of a little theatre which had just been added to their house. The play was to represent the decrepit old year going out and the new one coming in. The eldest daughter, a charming girl of fourteen, was to be the good genius of 1886, and to be dressed in a loose transparent robe. On the appointed evening, after the company had assembled, she donned her stage costume and ran into her mother's