“Last Christmas the children used the money they had collected in Sunday-School to buy charcoal for the poor. As they did not know to whom they should give it, they asked the policeman to give it to the poorest people he knew. They did not hear any more about it for some time, when one Sunday an old woman came to Sunday-School, and asked if this was the place where poor people were helped. She then thanked the children for the charcoal, telling them it had kept her warm most of the winter. She told them she lived in a tiny room with another old woman, and, although she worked very hard sewing, she could only earn about three cents a day. She had no money to buy charcoal to keep her warm, and about Christmas time thought she would throw herself into the river, as she was of no use to any one. Just at that time the children sent her the charcoal, so she felt that some one really cared for her. She helped in the heathen temple for a little while, but said the people were so unkind to her she could not stay. Now she is studying about Jesus, and goes every week to the Sunday-School.” If such effects follow when little heathen children are taught the story of Christmas and its significance, why, oh why, should not we mothers send the beautiful message to every little child in the world? MOTHERHOOD I see them come crowding, crowding, Children of want and pain, Dark sorrow their eyes enshrouding, Where joy’s touch should have lain. They stand in silence beseeching, Gaunt faces lifted up, And wan little hands outreaching For Love’s forbidden cup. Their hearts are restless with yearning, The hearts of my own are stilled, Their lips are parched and burning, The cups of my own are filled! I cry in love unsatisfied For these without the fold, My mother’s arms are open wide These weary ones to hold. What though my arms are open wide, Only mine own lie near, Without still stand those long denied, Compassed in want and fear. Bowed with the crown of Motherhood, I seek that Shepherd of old; “How can mine own receive the good With some left out of the fold?” (Isabel Kimball Whiting in _The Survey_. By permission.) Is it enough for us to plan that our own children and those near and dear to us shall be made happy by our Christmas tokens of love and remembrance? Truly it is such a busy, rushing time that even our regular church work must often be set aside that the Christmas obligations may be met. But a true mother heart is big enough to take in more, and ever more, and the blessing of growth is bestowed on each heart that opens to admit new objects of love.