For myself, I believe that anybody is an enemy to young people who desires to repress and crush out the naturally buoyant spirits of childhood and youth, and he is a benefactor of humanity who makes it a part of his business to see that proper places of amusement are provided for the young people. Aside from the physical advantages of play, there are moral advantages also. A man who helps to keep his body in good condition by regular exercise is, in that way, beyond a doubt, adding to the number of his days; that is to say, he will live longer than the man who doesn’t play. But beyond and above that, he is a happier man while he lives; he gets more joy and satisfaction out of life than the other fellow. Sane and healthy play tends to blot out the remembrance of cares and hardship; it gives our minds something else to think about. But young people must be careful not to become absorbed in these things. I believe in play; I believe in pleasure, in fun. But when I see young people, or old people for that matter, devoting all their time to wheeling, footballing, card parties, the giddy whirl of the dance, the bacchanalian hilarity of the dram shop, and so on, I am forced to say that things which may be right when taken in moderation, and as a relief from the overtaxing burdens of life, are wrong when they become the chief object for which one lives. A CHRISTMAS PRESENT. A forsaken little kitten wandered up and down the street on the day before Christmas. It had no home; it had no name; it had no ribbon around its neck; and it had no saucer of nice milk in one corner. It began to grow dark, and colder too, and the stars came peeping out, and the first flakes of a real Christmas snowstorm began floating down through the air. The kitten mewed a trembling little mew, which told as plainly as it could that it was very hungry, and it fluffed out its fur to keep itself warm. Now, somewhere along that street, up on top of a house (hiding behind a chimney where he couldn’t be seen), was Santa Claus, getting everything in shape before starting on his evening round. When old Santa saw that lonesome little kitten strolling around he smiled--yes, old Santa Claus smiled. He smiled because he knew that two blocks up the street a little girl was standing with her nose pressed against the window, looking out into the deepening night. He had seen her as he went by. And he had also seen the poor little supper laid out for two on the table, and heard her say to her mother, in a quavering voice: “Not even one present, mamma--not the teeniest little one!” “No, Susie,” her mother had answered, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get anything for my little girl this year, but--you know there wasn’t any money, dear.” And there was a tremble in her mother’s voice, too. [Illustration: “MAMMA THIS IS THE PRESENT SANTA BROUGHT.”]