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ILLUSTRATIONS

Page
the author making his book Frontispiece

“I sought dat Santy Claus tame down de chimney,” Said the younger of the
twain 46

“I am sure, miss, that they do wish you A merry Christmas” 76

“The stars look down” 84

“Thrusting his toes into the straps he struck out boldly” 96

“The world bows down to A mother and her child—­and the mother herself is at the feet of the child” 124

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A CHRISTMAS GREETING

“Good Will Toward Men”—­St. Luke 11-14.

There was a time when the spirit of Christmas was of the present.  There is a period when most of it is of the past.  There shall come a day perhaps when all of it will be of the future.  The child time, the present; the middle years, the past; old age, the future.

Come to my mind Christmas Days of long ago.  As a boy again I enter into the spirit of the Christmas stockings hanging before my fire.  I know what the children think to-day.  I recall what they feel.

Passes childhood, and I look down the nearer years.  There rise before me remembrances of Christmas Days on storm-tossed seas, where waves beat upon the ice-bound ship.  I recall again the bitter touch of water-warping winter, of drifts of snow, of wind-swept plains.  In the gamut of my remembrance I am once more in the poor, mean, lonely little sanctuary out on the prairie, with a handful of Christians, mostly women, gathered together in the freezing, draughty building.  In later years I worship in the great cathedral church, ablaze with lights, verdant and fragrant with the evergreen pines, echoing with joyful carols and celestial harmonies.  My recollections are of contrasts like those of life—­joy and sadness, poverty and ease.

And the pictures are full of faces, many of which may be seen no more by earthly vision.  I miss the clasp of vanished hands, I crave the sound of voices stilled.  As we old and older grow, there is a note of sadness in our glee.  Whether we will or not we must twine the cypress with the holly.  The recollection of each passing year brings deeper regret.  How many have gone from those circles that we recall when we were children?  How many little feet that pattered upon the stair on Christmas morning now tread softer paths and walk in broader ways; sisters and brothers who used to come back from the far countries to the old home—­alas, they cannot come from the farther country in which they now are, and perhaps, saddest thought of all, we would not wish them to come again.  How many, with whom we joined hands around the Christmas tree, have gone?