“The little rascal! serves him right!” said Mr. Vinton when told of the accident. “Send Dr. Grant down to set the arm, and tell him to attend to the boy, but don’t let May hear of it. She will be in a worry if she gets hold of it.” But when was there a case of suffering among the poor, especially in her vicinity, that May Vinton did not get hold of sooner or later? It was not many days before Ellen appeared at Bennie’s poor home with a basket of necessaries and delicacies for the boy’s comfort, and asking if there was anything further needed. In the basket was a quantity of great mellow-looking, yellow harvest apples; but when Bennie saw them he turned his face away and said, “Take them away! I don’t want to see any harvests, ever! It was good of Miss Vinton to send them, but I can’t bear them! It seems just as if they had printed all over them ‘Thief! thief!’” Poor Bennie, his sin had found him out! FAYE HUNTINGTON. ====== OH, dear December, hurry on, Oh, please—oh, please come quick: Bring snow so white, Bring fires so bright, And bring us good St. Nick! —_Selected._ THE COMPLAINT OF SANTA CLAUS. THE snow lies deep on the frozen ground, And the Christmas night is cold, And I shine before the rime so hoar— Can it be I am growing old? Long years ago when the Christmas chimes Made merry the midnight sky, When the carolers’ call filled houses and hall, And wassail and mirth ran high; When the harlequin mummers reeled and danced, And the great Yule log blazed bright; When the walls were green with a summer sheen, In holly and yew bedight; When the faces of all, the young, the old, Were brimming with sparkling cheer— Aye, those were the times when Christmas chimes Were the merriest sounds of the year! I snapped my fingers in Jack Frost’s teeth, While the snow was wavering down, And the icicles hung from my beard I flung— My beard that was then so brown! And I wrapped myself in my grizzly coat, And lit my pipe with a coal From Hecla’s crest, where I stopped to rest, On my way from the Northern Pole. My reindeers—O, they were brisk and gay— My sledge, it could stand a pull; My pack, tho’ great, seemed a feather’s weight, No matter how crammed and full! My heart it was stout in those good old days, And warm with an inward glee; For I thought of the mirths of a thousand hearts, Where the little ones watched for me. So I gathered my sweets from far and near, And I piled my cunningest toys (Unheeding the swirls) for the innocent girls, And the rollicking, roguish boys. But the times have sobered and changed since then, My merriment flags forlorn; My beard is as white as on Christmas night Of old was the Glaston thorn.