his darling child folded it in
her wish to make it look as attractive as possible. I can never even
think of this gift without fancying the tiny unskillful fingers as they
toilsomely labored over those silks that would catch and twist, and I
think of the sweet brow and eyes which bent over the work, and am as
sure as if I had seen it of the loving smile which hovered about the
childish lips at the thought that she was going to give me a pleasant
surprise.

But as this little maiden grew up the cares of Christmas multiplied.
There came a time when she had money to spend, and a host of friends to
spend it upon, and when she certainly had not time personally to conduct
the making of the number of Christmas presents she thought necessary to
bestow. She was much too loyal to leave me out on this occasion, and if
I were to judge of the degree of her affection by the proportion of her
money which she spent upon me, she must have regarded me still as one
of her dearest friends. She gave me a pair of exquisite cut glass vases,
which, when placed in the sunshine, were certainly most beautiful with
the flashing of colors. Their outline too was a lovely curve, but
unfortunately such that it was impossible to put any flowers in the
vases. At the base they were too slender to receive even one rose-stalk,
while they were so broad at the top that it would have required a whole
nosegay to fill them. If I had had a vast empty drawing-room which was
to be filled with _bric-a-brac_, I could have found a place for them;
but they were too delicate for my tiny parlor where there is so little
elbow-room that slight things are in danger of being overturned. Of
course I prize the vases and love the giver, but I know she never would
have given them to me but for the feeling that the time had come to make
a present; and so, while I shall cherish the little purse as long as I
live, I have resolved that if the vases are ever broken, I will not
treasure the fragments.

From these two roots, the love of creating beauty and the desire to
express love for our friends on the same day of every year, such
luxuriant vines have grown that unless we prune them carefully we are in
danger of being completely entangled by them. There are still, perhaps,
some waste places which our useless _bric-a-brac_ might make beautiful,
and if we know any bare homes, let us by all means do something to
brighten them; but let us not make for ourselves or give to our friends