CHRISTMAS GREETING.

DEAR ROSARY CHILDREN:-I know full well that you are trembling with merry and impatient expectations to find out just what it is, and how much of it he has brought you,-your dear, darling old Santa Claus, travelling over hill and dale, muffled up in his great, big, warm coat, loaded down with the most distractingly merry-making gifts upon which young eyes were ever riveted.

Yes; I know this, and although your ever-welcome annual visitor, Santa, has not made me his confidant, still as he and I were on pretty close terms of friendship once, I am prepared to advance the statement that every one of you is especially remembered by your snow-whiskered, little, old, good-natured friend. You will all receive Christmas gifts to your little hearts' content. Oh, of course! you can hardly wait for your visitor to be along. You will be happy children on Christmas day, gloating over all the dazzling presents that Santa Claus left you.

But isn't it sad to think that there are many bright-eyed children to whom the dear name of Santa Claus is unknown? Will this thought darken your Christmas joys? If it does you may dispel the gloom by sharing your gifts with those whose gaunt, pinched little faces will be made bright by your generous and noble action.

You will, I know, be moved to do some little act of charity at this holy season of the year, when you remember how Almighty God made us a present of His only begotten Son. Jesus was God's gift to us. As then, the surest and the best way to be happy is to procure the happiness of others, let me ask you all to carry out this suggestion, at this holy season of peace and good will, brought about by the coming into our midst of the Infant Saviour.

With best wishes for you all, and with the joyous hope that Santa and you may long continue to be friends,

I am, dear children, yours very truly,

THE EDITOR.

66

"POOR LITTLE GOD."

A Christmas Story.

I. M. O'REILLY.

Now, Mother dear, please don't refuse me. I know I'm asking a great favor, but I'm sure you won't regret it if you say yes. I have no idea of how long we may have to be away, and I can't run the risk of taking Betty with me on such a trip in mid-winter. I couldn't have a single easy moment were I to leave her any place else than here, or in other hands than yours. She's a dear, affectionate little soul, so tender-hearted and docile, yet so full of life and spirit and mischief that I'm perfectly certain you'll all love her and be glad you took her. Besides, Mother, you know she is named after you, that fact alone ought to secure her a welcome."

Thus pleaded Mrs. Brownson with the gentle Mother Elizabeth, Superioress of the Convent at Sherwood. The favor she asked was that they would take her very little daughter to board during her absence from home. She was obliged to go with her husband to a distant city to look after some important interests, about which there was to be a lawsuit ;— hence the uncertainty as to the date of their return. Hal and Wilfred she could take with her, as Miss Amalia, their governess, would go too, and could continue their studies, but it was different with the baby. Margery is just as good as gold," Mrs. Brownson said, "and loves Betty dearly, yet I don't like to leave the child in the house with no one but the servants: now would you, Mother?"

Mother Elizabeth had listened smilingly to the various arguments, and when Helen and Carrie joined their coaxing to their Mother's pleading, having in the meantime weighed the matter well in her own mind, she gave the coveted permission. "Yes, certainly, my dear; send her to us by all means. 1 only hesitated because it is not our custom to take children so young as your little Elizabeth, and I did not feel sure we could give her the attention she requires. But I find

we can manage it nicely. Perhaps a little grain of judicious neglect and a trifle less coddling than she gets at home may do her good. I don't suppose you'll object if she is put to bed without her supper occasionally, or receives a whipping now and then?"

Mrs. Brownson laughed merrily, knowing well how such modes of punishment were tabooed in the firm but gentle discipline of the Convent. "No; I won't object. You may do it,-on condition, though, that she deserve such treatment, or that you can find it in your heart to administer it."

And thus it was arranged that Betty, not much over three years old, should go to the boarding-school where her two sisters already were, and where her mother had passed some of the happiest years of her girlhood. Helen and Carrie were delighted with the prospect of having their sister with them, for they were devoted to her, and thought it great fun to take charge of her and act Mamma.

What a droll, pretty, winsome baby she was, and how quickly she won her way into everybody's heart. From the benev olent Superioress, whom she at once christened Grandma, down through all the Sisters and to the youngest girl in the school, there was not one who did not love "Little Sunshine," as she soon came to be called. Had she been a regular pupil she would have been kept to some rules, and the process of uprooting embyro faults and implanting solid virtues might have been systematically begun. But as it was, nobody could tell if her stay would be for a week or a month; therefore she was allowed to do pretty much as her own sweet will dictated, and was in a very fair way of being spoiled, here as elsewhere, notwithstanding Reverend Mother's awful threats. From schoolroom to garden, from Mother's sanctum to the kitchen, from chapel to infirmary she flitted as fancy dictated,-pointing out her a, b, c's, or reciting Mother Goose melodies among the small children in class; playing games with them on the lawn; telling "Grandma" wonderful stories in her pretty prattle; making bread and pies and cakes with good Sister Margaret; kneeling with folded hands in God's house, as she always called it; creeping on tip-toe to the invalid Sister's room, where no other pupil dared enter;-thus her days were passed, and

although she spoke continually of "my Mamma" and of her father and brothers, she was merry as a cricket, blithe as a bird in the woods.

The dear old nurse who had taken care of all Mrs. Brownson's children, was given the privilege of going out from the city on Sundays and Thursdays to spend a long, happy afternoon with her "bairns." "I'm glad indeed that the baby's good, Sister, and she seems altogether content," Margery would say, "but you wouldn't believe how lonely like it is int the big house without her, and my old heart's sore with the longing for her." And the honest creature's eyes would fill with tears as she pressed her darling to her bosom and kissed her dimpled cheeks again and again. "You see, Sister, the Madam has the Master and the lads with her, but I've ne'er a one at all. If they don't all come back soon you'll have to take me for a boarder, too, I'm thinking." Then the youngsters would grow so merry over the thought of Margery coming to school that she would have to join in the laugh, and thus her troubles were forgotten for a time at least.

Among all of Betty's friends the one for whose companionship she seemed to have the greatest liking was Sis er Christina, the young Sacristan. The little one was never weary of being with her, and could spend hours in trotting backwards and forwards after her whilst she cleaned the Sanctuary or decked the altars for Mass and Benediction, helping her with an air of great importance; or in sitting beside her listening intently to the beautiful stories of which the gentle Religieuse appeared to have an inexhaustible fund. Those which best pleased both the devout narrator and her earnest little listener, and were therefore the most frequently told, were of the Infant Jesus, whose birthday was now close at hand. The theme was dear to the Sister's soul, as unspotted by the world as that of her guileless companion, and she gave over and over a glowing word-picture of Bethlehem until Betty not only knew it but had it painted upon her heart. "More, Sister, more," she would lisp when her entertainer paused,-" tell Betty some more about sweet little Jesus." Sister Christina had been reading that most exquisite and incomparable book, Faber's "Bethlehem," and almost unconsciously she dwelt upon