The days of the gray hairs and wrinkled brows utter few petitions to the merry god of all the happy Christmas eves; but if they asked of Santa Claus the supremest gift in all the world of men, they would implore him for one more Christmas as happy and as innocent as smiled upon them in the days of childhood long ago! To the Lonesome Fiddle. You needn't look so lonesome, Mr. Fiddle, hanging there With the pretty girls about you and the pleasures every where; For I know your heart is heaven with its music angel sweet, And it all will go to singing at the coming of the feet! Then don't you look so lonesome! The happy days we'll meet; For the Christmas times are coming And the dancing of the feet. You needn't look so lonesome! In your happy soul abound All the airs of royal rapture that the golden cycles found, And the willing fingers waiting are staying close about, Just to pick your heart to pieces and to coax the music out! Then don't you look so lonesome! The laughing lips shall meet With the mistletoe above us And the coming of the feet! You needn't look so lonesome! I can see you laughing there To the tune of "Old Dan Tucker" as you drop the loads of care, And the melodies immortal drive the troubles all away As you spill the tender music of "My Darling Nellie Gray." Then don't you look so lonesome! All your dreams will come complete, And Love will swing his partners To the tripping of the feet. O, you needn't look so lonesome! All the good times you shall feel As you shout the mighty chorus of the "Old Virginia Reel," And Love shall join the music with the raptures that abound, As we heel-and-toe-it lively and we "swing the ladies 'round!" Then don't you look so lonesome! Love and happiness shall meet, And we'll shout good-bye to trouble In the shuffle of the feet! Let the boy eat! The grocery-man is a less expensive guest than the doctor, and mush and milk are more palatable than medicine. "If Santa Claus Don't Come." If Santa Claus forgets to come, I don't know what I'll do; I 'spect I'll get as bad as some An' cry a little, too; I wrote an' told him plain as day What he should buy an' bring; An' if he don't, I'll always say That he's a mean old thing! I want a drum to pound all day Fer ev'ry passin' crowd; A punchin'-bag an' foot-ball,--say, An' gun that shoots out loud; I'd like to have a pony, too, An' big dog fer a chum; Dear me, I don't know what I'll do If Santa Claus don't come! I'll hang my stockin's anyway! They won't hold half enough, But I'll jes' write a note, an' say The place to leave the stuff! I'll jump in bed at candle-light, An' act both deaf an' dumb! But 'twill be awful here tonight If Santa Claus don't come!