They entered houses without ringing door-bells, they
passed through apartments without opening doors, and everywhere they were
bearing Christ's Christmas presents, and silently offering them to
whoever would open their souls to receive. Like themselves, their gifts
were invisible--incapable of weight and measurement in gross earthly
scales. To mourners they carried joy; to weary and perplexed hearts,
peace; to souls stifling in luxury and self-indulgence they carried that
noble discontent that rises to aspiration for higher things. Sometimes
they took away an earthly treasure to make room for a heavenly one. They
took health, but left resignation and cheerful faith. They took the babe
from the dear cradle, but left in its place a heart full of pity for the
suffering on earth and a fellowship with the blessed in heaven. Let us
follow their footsteps awhile.
SCENE I.
A young girl's boudoir in one of our American palaces of luxury, built
after the choicest fancy of the architect, and furnished in all the
latest devices of household decoration. Pictures, statuettes, and every
form of _bijouterie_ make the room a miracle of beauty, and the little
princess of all sits in an easy chair before the fire, and thus revolves
with herself:
"O, dear me! Christmas is a bore! Such a rush and crush in the streets,
such a jam in the shops, and then _such_ a fuss thinking up presents for
everybody! All for nothing, too; for nobody Wants anything.
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