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charming. There were only profusion and sincerity, heartiness and gayety, fun and merriment, cordiality and cheer, and withal genuineness and refinement.

Next morning before light the stir began. Whiteclad little figures stole about in the gloom, with bulging stockings clasped to their bosoms, opening doors, shouting "Christmas gift!" into dark rooms at sleeping elders, and then scurrying away like so many white mice, squeaking with delight, to rake open the embers and inspect their treasures. At prayers, "Shout the glad tidings" was sung by fresh young voices with due fervor.

How gay the scene was at breakfast! What pranks had been performed in the name of Santa Claus! Every foible had been played on. What lovely telltale blushes and glances and laughter greeted the confessions! The larger part of the day was spent in going to and coming from the beautifully dressed church, where the service was read, and the anthems and hymns were sung by everybody, for every one was happy.

But, as in the beginning of things, "the evening and the morning were the first day." Dinner was the great event. It was the test of the mistress and the cook, or, rather, the cooks; for the kitchen now was full of them. It is impossible to describe it. The old mahogany table stretched diagonally across the dining-room, groaned; the big gobbler filled the place of honor; a great round

of beef held the second place; an old ham, with every other dish that ingenuity, backed by long experience, could devise, was at the side, and the shining sideboard, gleaming with glass, scarcely held the dessert.

It was then that the fun began. There were games and dances-country dances, the lancers and quadrilles. The top of the old piano was lifted up, and the infectious dancing-tunes rolled out under the flying fingers. There was some demur on the the part of the elder ladies, who were not quite sure that it was right; but it was overruled by the gentlemen, and the master in his frock coat and high collar started the ball by catching the prettiest girl by the hand and leading her to the head of the room right under the noses of half a dozen bashful lovers, calling to them meantime to "get their sweethearts and come along." Round dancing was not yet introduced. It was regarded as an innovation, if nothing worse. It was held generally as highly improper, by some as "disgusting." As to the german, why, had it been known, the very name would have been sufficient to condemn it. Nothing foreign in that civilization! There was fun enough in the old-fashioned country dances, and the "Virginia reel" at the close; whoever could not be satisfied with that was hard to please.

SPRING IN KENTUCKY

JOHN FOX, JR.

Spring in the Blue-grass! The earth-spiritual as it never is except under new-fallen snow-in the first shy green. The leaves, a floating mist of green, so buoyant that, if loosed, they must, it seemed, have floated upward

never to know the blight of frost or the droop of age. The air, rich with the smell of new earth and sprouting grass, the long, low skies newly washed, and, through radiant distances, clouds light as thistle-down and white

as snow.

And the birds! Wrens in the hedges, sparrows by the wayside and on fence-rails, starlings poised over meadows brilliant with glistening dew, larks in the pastures all singing as they sang at the first dawn, and the mood of nature that perfect blending of earth and heaven that is given her children but rarely to know. It was good to be alive at the breaking of such a day - good to be young and strong, and eager and unafraid, when the nation called for its young men and red Mars was the morning star.

It was growing dusk outside. Chickens were going to roost with a great chattering in some locust trees in one corner of the yard. An aged darkey was swinging an axe at the woodpile, and two little pickaninnies were gathering a basket of chips. Already the air was filled with the twilight sounds of the farm-the lowing of cattle, the bleating of calves at the cowpens, the bleat of sheep from the woods, and the nicker of horses in the barn.

The locust trees were quiet now, and the barn was still except for the occasional stamp of a horse in his stall or the squeak of a pig that was pushed out of his warm place by a stronger brother. The night noises were strong and clear the cricket in the grass, the croaking frogs from the pool, the whir of a night-hawk's wings along the edge of the yard, the persistent wail of a whip-poor-will sitting lengthwise of a willow limb over the meadow branch, the occasional sleepy caw of crows from their roost in the woods beyond, the bark of a house-dog at a neighbor's home across the fields, and, farther still, the fine high yell of a fox hunter and the faint answering yelp of a hound.

THE WEATHER-SPIRIT

GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY

A voice in the roaring pine wood,
A voice in the breaking sea,
A voice in the storm-red morning,
That will not let me be.

It is calling me to the forest,
It is calling me to the strand,
The Weather-spirit is calling me
To fare over sea and land.

Till my cheek with the rain is stinging, And my head is wet with the spray, There is that within my bosom

Which will not let me stay.

Might in the pine wood tossing,
Might on the racing sea,
The Weather-spirit, my brother,
Is calling, calling to me.

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