Life — December 1, 1900 — page 20: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

460 The Cynic’s Carol. RADITION calls for snow; no snow to-day; Only the old abuses in tho old, old way: Mendicants cry, Give! and debtors, Wait! and credit, Pay! Becauso it's Xmas! Some ono brings tokening plush and celluloid, Ot use or beauty, sentiment or soul, devold, With fond but fatuous hopo I shall be overjoyed, Bocauso it’s Xmas! ‘A damo whose whim {s to propitiate Sends mo a china rooster filled with chocolate, Nougat, or some confection I abominate, Because it’s Xmas! Upon her haughty lackey I bestow My benediction plus a crisping bill or so . . Noblesse oblige, though ho’s tho richer far, I know!.. Becauso it's Xmas! Obstroporous offspring of my kin and kith Prate, overconfident, of a gift-bringing myth, And hang appealing rows of stockings up forthwith, Because it's Xmas! And trusting bird and beast must learn tho fraud That tends them to betray for festal greed or gaud .. As if {n sacrificial blood were holy laud! . . Because it’s Xmas! ‘Tho bells ring out their annual’madd'ning chime, Tho samo old bells, the samo old out-of-tune-and- time! And then my editor demands a maudlin rhyme, Because it’s Xmas! Marguerite Merington, A Christmas Hint. F bits of ribbon, silk and gauze, Swoot Phyllis fashioned hosen For banging on the Christmas tree, To hold the gifts she'd chosen, And I? I helped and watched, meanwhile, ‘The long and taper fingers— Ah, how cach touch of thoso fair hands} Within my memory lingers! I might forever thus havo sat In silent adoration; But Phyllis has a groat dislike For such a situation. 80, with an alr most commonplace Designed to chock my pleasure, Bho sald, “There, all are done save yours; Now, pray, what shall it measure?” “ How should I know ?” I, wondering, asked. “Why, thus; the measure of it Should faintly hint to good Saint Nick The gift that you most covet.” T looked swoet Phyllis {n tho eyes; I sald, “If this be true, dear, Make mo the stocking for my gift About as big as—you, dear.” Truman Roberts Andrews. “NOW, WHAT I8 THE MATTER, DEARIE? DON'T YOU LIKE YOUR CHRISTMAS TREE?" “THERE ISN'T ANY STOCKING ON IT.”