Go on, my people an’ be yoahselves, an’ hev pains an’ ha’nts, an’ leave de painless dentistry uv life an’ de ’lightened sperits tuh a w’ite an’ idle an’ moah civilized people; ’membeh dat you hev er neveh-dyin’ soul teh save, an’ beah in min’, night an’ day, de feelin’ uv de song we is now gwine teh sing: I’se gwine tuh be a angel, A long, tall angel; I’se gwine be a angel, bye ’n bye! A w’ite-robed angel, A charcoal angel; I’se gwine be a angel, bye ’n bye! THE MISANTHROPE He supped on sorrow till his soul Was sated with the noxious fare; But not one drop of Love’s pure wine Could his repleted spirit bear. _Clara Dargan Maclean._ THE STORY OF THE YEAR-GIFTS TO BE TOLD TO THE CHILDREN ON NEW YEAR’S EVE By Robert Wilson Neal There was an old man, and he was very old indeed—so old that he did not know his own age, though he knew the age of every boy and girl, and every man and woman, and every city, and every country, in the world—so old that he had seen the mountains rise out of the land and the continents out of the great oceans. He was very, very old indeed, you see; the oldest man that ever was. He had long, white hair and a long, white beard that fell quite down to his waist. But though he was so very old, he was very strong and healthy, so that no one ever thought that he would die. And because he was so, he was able to accomplish everything. He was never idle and never had been—no, not for one minute. He worked while people slept and while they played; no one ever knew him to stop. That is why he had done so very, very much. For he had formed great peoples so long ago that nobody but he knows anything about them; and many, many centuries ago had written wonderful stories that we still read; and had built great churches and palaces, and painted beautiful pictures, and carved beautiful statues, and composed wonderful music, and had discovered wonderful new ways of doing things and wonderful elements in earth and air that nobody had thought of, and had done so many things that ought to be done, that I believe a thousand men could not tell all of them if they wrote all their lives. He was very good, too, for he meant that everything he did should make people happier. But oftentimes he made mistakes, and did things wrong, or seemed to, and then people suffered—sometimes only a few people for a little while, and sometimes many people for years and years. But as soon as he saw that he had done wrong or that things were not going as they should, he set to work to undo his mistake and make things come right; and he never stopped until he did this, so that people came to say that he would bring everything right in the end if only it were left to him. And though he was so busy and so old, he was always glad when he had done good and was always happy with people he had helped.