That’s Lowbury pastor, sitting there
      On the cedar boughs by the chancel rails;
    His face is clouded with carking care,
      For it’s nearly five, the daylight fails—­
    The church is silent,—­the girls all gone,
    And the Christmas wreaths not nearly done.

    Two tiny boots crunch-crunch the snow,
      They saucily stamp at the transept door,
    And then up to the pillared aisle they go
      Pit-pat, click-clack, on the marble floor—­
    A lady fair doth that pastor see,
    And he saith, “Oh, bother, it isn’t she!”

    A lady in seal-skin—­eyes of blue,
      And tangled tresses of snow-flecked gold—­
    She speaks, “Good gracious! can this be you,
      Sitting alone in the dark and cold? 
    The rest all gone!  Why it wasn’t right;
    These texts will never be done to-night.”

    She sits her down at her pastor’s feet,
      And, wreathing evergreen, weaves her wiles,
    Heart-piercing glances bright and fleet,
      Soft little sighs, and shy little smiles;
    But the pastor is solemnly sulky and glum,
    And thinketh it strange that “she” doesn’t come.

    Then she tells him earnestly, soft and low,
      How she’d do her part in this world of strife,
    And humbly look to him to know
      The path that her feet should tread through life—­
    Her pastor yawneth behind his hat,
    And wondereth what she is driving at.

    Crunch-crunch again on the snow outside,
      The pastor riseth unto his feet,
    The vestry door is opened wide,
      A dark-eyed maid doth the pastor greet,
    And that lady fair can see and hear,
    Her pastor kiss her, and call her “dear.”

    “Why, Maud!” “Why, Nelly!” those damsels cry;
      But lo, what troubles that lady fair? 
    On Nelly’s finger there meets her eye
      The glow of a diamond solitaire,
    And she thinks, as she sees the glittering ring,
    “And so she’s got him—­the hateful thing!”

    There sit they all ’neath the Christmas tree,
      For Maud is determined that she wont go
    The pastor is cross as a man can be,
      And Nelly would like to pinch her so,
    And they go on wreathing the text again—­
    It is “Peace on earth and good-will towards men.”

    LAKE MAHOPAC—­SATURDAY NIGHT.

    “Yes, I’m here, I suppose you’re delighted: 
      You’d heard I was not coming down! 
    Why I’ve been here a week!—­’rather early’—­
      I know, but it’s horrid in town

    A Boston?  Most certainly, thank you. 
      This music is perfectly sweet;
    Of course I like dancing in summer;
      It’s warm, but I don’t mind the heat.

    The clumsy thing!  Oh! how he hurt me! 
      I really can’t dance any more—­
    Let’s walk—­see, they’re forming a Lancers;
      These square dances are such a bore.