year! Santa Claus knew it, but finding it too big to go in my stocking, he left it on the hall table. He's a glorious old fellow, after all!"

As we grow old we often perceive the lamp of our faith burning dim, and turn to our little ones in the fond hope that we may borrow some drops of oil from their

ed to make me conceited and proud as Tommy Merton was of his silver knee-buckles." The stocking was empty, and not even hope remained at the bottom. Here was a whole year's accumulating expectations come to naught. Then his swelling grief and indignation broke forth. Santa Claus was a humbug and a fool. The tears started into his eyes, and he raised his foot to spurn the despicable gifts. We were eavesdropping, and now suggested that if he showed such temper, Santa Claus would cut his acquaintance, and fill his stocking with bran next winter. These prudential considerations checked his angry demonstrations, and by the time he had dressed himself the clouds had cleared, and the sun of childhood again beamed in his face. So he gathered up his presents respectfully, and started to exhibit them to the household. Presently we heard a shout of triumph, and he burst into the room arrayed in helmet, sword, and coat of

questionings that we run serious risk of extinguishing the little light which lingering sentiment and timorous reason have permitted us to cherish.

He who affects the society of little boys and girls must carry a dictionary in one pocket, an encyclopedia of general knowledge in the other, and, like the good Saint Francis, be prepared to assert a good many things, "not because he knows them to be so, but because he can't afford to be stumped."

"Papa, what is this on my finger ?" "My son, it is a wart." "What is a wart?" After some reflection we reply, "It is an excrescence."

"Well, what is an excrescence?"

Now we are puzzled, get out the dictionary, and proceed to explain. "A wart is an excrescence, or a preternatural protuberance."

"In the name of sense, what is that?" "Well, to give you a more satisfactory and scientific elucidation of the subject, we will call it an 'insensible extuberance.""

"Pap, I believe you are fooling me. If that's all you know about it, we may just as well call it a wart."

"So we have always thought, my son; but when you grow up, and have studied Latin and Greek and philosophy, and have got through college, you will be astonished to perceive what an advantage it gives one in the world to command an extensive vocabulary of jaw-cracking words and sonorous titles for very common thoughts and things."

As the natural result of this prurient appetite for knowledge, our little ones soon lose that exquisite but indefinable charm of Eden which clothes all childhood with a certain uniformity. Then we begin to remark the diverse traits and peculiarities which indicate character, and oftentimes furnish a clew to the future destiny of the individual.

More than half a century ago two little boy cousins sat together earnestly speculating on the arrival of a beloved aunt, just from the South, with a big trunk reported to be laden with tropical fruits expressly for the children. Very soon their expectancy was resolved by the receipt of a ripe golden orange each. Now at that day the orange was so rarely seen by us that it was encircled with the glamour of romance-an exotic so costly that when we occasionally got a pale, halfwilted specimen, it was carefully peeled and divided into compartments enough to give every member of the family a taste. But here each cousin held in his hands a whole globe of fresh and succulent delight, to dispose of and enjoy according to his own will. Without pausing a moment to admire the beauty or snuff the external fragrance of his fruit, the first hurriedly tore it open, and burying his face in the luscious pulp, squirting the rich juice from

ing samples of the contents, like a modest gauger, until he had extracted the last drop from the precious cask. The seeds, accurately counted, were kept to plant an orangery, and the skin dutifully delivered to mamma to flavor a promised cake.

As might readily have been foreseen, when these boys became men, the first stuck his two thumbs into his world, recklessly tearing it open as he had done his orange, devouring estate, body, and soul in three greedy swallows, dying at twenty-seven, so palled with the flavor of this life that he scarcely wished for another. The careful cousin, now past threescore years, is still sucking his portion through a pin-hole, still straining for the last sweet drop, having squeezed his world until it is flat, stale, and unprofitable as a ship-biscuit after a long voyage.

Individual observation, however, will throw but little light on so comprehensive a subject, and to treat systematically the varieties and subvarieties of the puerile species, we will find it convenient to adopt the popular classification and descriptive nomenclature, arranged on the descending scale as follows:

The little Gentleman, a variety chiefly found

politeness to seniors, and obedience to mammas and guardians; repeats hymns prettily, stays awake in church, refuses candy for fear of spoiling his teeth; is careful of his clothes, and exhibits an abnormal dread of dirt; is rather timid and unenterprising; seldom gets

THE DRUM-MAJOR.

hurt, and prefers playing with the girls; is a charming little fellow as a boy, but develops feebly in this climate, and is rarely distinguished in after-life out of his own family or social coterie.

The little Man is a sturdier and more spicy specimen than the foregoing, with higher temper and more physical vitality; restless, noisy, and unmanageable; running into danger and dirt with reckless audacity, and risking his bones and habiliments without stopping to count the cost of mending. Yet he is generous as brave; will share his cake or candy with all comers; loves his mamma, and listens dutifully to her sweet counsels, which enter at one ear and escape by the other; won't tell a lie to his papa, unless injudiciously cornered; at once the joy and vexation of the household, the terror and pride of his parents, who, foreseeing the important part such a character is destined to play in the world, are naturally solicitous about the career best fitted to develop his genius. Ever since the days of little Samuel, pious mammas continue to nurture a preference for that calling, in their opinion the most safe and honorable in this life, and promising the largest interest in the world to come; so the little man is invited to join the consultation, and, with a fond caress, she asks if he wouldn't like to be a preacher.

"A preacher!" reiterates young Hopeful, looking chap-fallen and alarmed. "Why, mamma, I'm the

only little boy you have got, and you surely don't want me to follow such a dangerous business as that?"

"How dangerous, my son ?" she answers, in surprise.

"Why, d'ye see, if I was to be a preacher, I might very likely have a call to be a missionary among the heathens, and then, d'ye see, I should be roasted and eaten."

A little mortified at her bold boy's open confession of timidity, mamma then asks, "Pray what business do you mean to follow ?"

"Why, of course, I mean to be a soldier," he answers, gallantly baring his baby sword. The best specimens of the Chub are to be found in our most fertile rural districts. This variety is round, rosy-cheeked, and omnivorous. He lingers at the breakfast table until it is cleared off; then descends with a sigh of regret and a roll in each hand. As he stuffs these in his pockets with prudent foresight, he says, "Mam, when will dinner be ready for I am going up in the orchard to eat some peaches, and I reckon I'll be hungry pretty soon." Our chub is moderately addicted to play, but despises books, and don't like work of any kind. He is agrarian in principle, and looks upon locked pantries and inclosed orchards as crimes against society. His watch-word is Divide and Eat; then divide and eat again until all monopolies have perished. Yet he is content with a piece of pie in each hand, even if his neighbor happens to have none.

The Brat is a somewhat contemptuous sobriquet given to the next variety in the descending scale-the most influential class in country towns and villages, ruling by numbers and persistent activity, like the grasshopper in Kansas, with the advantage of being lively at all seasons. In summer he spends his time turning somersaults in the

THE WHELP.

dirt, swinging on cows' tails, and "skinning the cat" on wagon poles, throwing stones, robbing birds' nests, fighting bumble-bees, and wrangling over games of marbles, hopscotch, and the like. In winter he concentrates himself upon sliding on gutters and ponds, sledding, and snow-balling at the street corners. Unlike the chub, he would rather play than eat, and luxuriates in noise and mischief. He despises literature, and is careless to a fault in the matter of dress. He will, however, condescend to wear boots in winter if he happens to have a pair; don't

ready to question even the justice of Providence itself. That Being is the Drum-Major in all his glory.

The Whelp is a thoroughly mean specimen of boyhood, lacking in moral sense and natural affections; cowardly, cruel, and untrustworthy; a positive character which may be temporarily repressed and cowed by terror, but never to be relied on. He is usually dirty and unlettered, but is confined to no class, and sometimes appears in his worst phases amidst the advantages of pious training and surrounded by affluence. For

object to a hat, if the crown is sufficiently ventilated; and if he wears a shirt, carefully avoids any foppish display of that garment about the neck and wrists. The brat is exuberant in his cheerfulness, delighting in his free and irresponsible estate, envying neither fame nor riches, respecting neither age, sex, nor condition-with one exception: in the presence of that great Being he is overpowered, breathless with mingled awe and admiration, shrinking with the consciousness of his own insignificance, doubting the sufficiency of republican institutions, and

tunately for society, these specimens are few and far between, scarcely numerous enough to constitute a distinct class, but rather to be regarded as monstrosities, the accidental mistakes of freakish nature.

To the above list we might add the Mountaineer, with tow head and rodent teeth-a virile living class with numerous subvarieties, but local; and finally the children of the poets, the boy who stood on the burning deck, the boy of the Arctic, and divers gamins, and little draggle-tailed children that have served as stocks for the roman