Practising.

Ma—Bolax you are wasting your time, don't stop, you have not practised long enough.

Bolax—Look at the clock, Ma, dear. It was bright sunlight when I began, and now the shades of night are falling.

Ma—That's very poetical, but you must continue practising.

Bolax—Oh, you are the provokingest mother I ever saw; I'll not love you a bit after a while, if you keep on making me practise.

Ma—Go on with your lesson, especially that piece for the concert.

Bolax—Bang, bang, oh, how I wish the man who invented pianos was dead.

Ma—Well, he is dead.

Bolax—Then I wish all the professors were dead.

Ma—A great many of them are. Go on with your work.

Bolax—Oh, Ma, dear, can't you let up on a fellow, if you don't, indeed, indeed, I'll be dead too!

Ma—That has no effect upon me, Bo, I make you practise for your own good. I take the trouble to sit here and worry over you, when I might be upstairs resting.

Bolax—But Ma, dear, how do other boys manage? Their mothers don't bother to make them learn music.

Ma—Perhaps those boys don't need the urging you do.

By this time the patient mother began to show signs of nervousness, and Bo, who really loved his "Ma dear" began to play with a will, but having the spirit of mischief strong in him, put some funny words to the tune he was playing.

Bolax—Oh, twenty thousand rats and forty thousand cats, they all screamed and yelled in sharps and flats!

Suddenly turning round on the stool, he said, "Ma, dear, just let me tell you a dream I had, while I'm resting my fingers."

Ma—Well, only for two minutes.

Bolax—Last night you made me practise so much and old Professor was so dreadful at lesson, that I dreamed I went to the piano, and all the keys turned to Brownies, they looked more like Goblins, and began to dance up and down, they played jig music. It was fine. I gave them "On the Meadow" and "Sounds from the Forest," and they played the two pieces right off.

Ma—Now dear, give just one-half hour more to your lesson and I'll let you have all day tomorrow free, it's the beginning of the Christmas holidays, and the cold is so intense I shouldn't be surprised if the skating and sliding would be fine.

Thus spurred on, Bo surprised himself, and the half hour was more than passed when his mother called him to come upstairs, but he was in the middle of a piece and waited to finish it.

Bolax continued playing softly, then called out—"Ma, dear! I wonder if we will have an adventure this year like last Christmas." "Not very likely, my dear; fortunately there are not many placed in the position poor Mary Ryan was that night. I have invited her to come to the Sunday-school entertainment, and her little Joe is to represent the infant Jesus in the tableaux of the crib."

"Oh, that will be splendid. Hurrah!" shouted Bo.

December 23 was a glorious winter day. The sun shone brilliantly, no wind, and the thermometer low enough to keep the skating pond in good condition, the ice and snow on the hills crisp and slippery for coasting. All day long was heard the jingle of sleigh bells and the shouts of merry children enjoying themselves, rang through the air.

Elmer Mullen, who was a boy of sixteen, had formed a great friendship for Bo. He was quite a good musician and seemed attracted towards the little boy because of his musical talent.

Whenever there was any especial fun on hand, Elmer always called for Bo to join him. There were seven boys who always went together—Elmer Mullen, John Montgomery, Joe Davis, Tom Nolan, Walter Rhue and Bolax. Elmer and John had been prospecting for a hill to make a toboggan slide. They found one very high, but rather steep, it was about a mile from the village. This was just what suited them for they wanted to keep away from the rough crowd.

On the very top of this hill was a small shanty built the previous summer by the men who had been cutting down trees.

"Say boys," said Elmer, "let us play we are the monks of St. Bernard."

"But we haven't even one St. Bernard dog," said John.

"Yes, we have," replied Archie. "Joe Davis has a tremendous fellow, he rolls in the snow, and dug out a chicken that had been buried in a drift, and brought it into the kitchen without hurting it." "Let us have him by all means," said Elmer. "We will call the hut our monastery and pretend this hill is the top of Mount Blanc; we'll send our dogs to find people who are lost in the snow."

"I can bring our Don," said Bolax. "He's most as big as a St. Bernard, but where will we get people to rescue?"

"Let me see," reflected Elmer. "I am the oldest; I'll be the Abbott, you boys will be the brothers; you must all obey the Abbott."—"Obey!" exclaimed Bo. "Oh, that's no fun, we're always having to do that. I want to whoop and holler; let us be snowed-up Indians and make the shanty our Teepee."

"Well," said Elmer, "this afternoon we seven boys will meet. Bring the dogs and sleds, then we'll decide which it shall be—Monks or Indians."

After dinner the seven chums climbed Mount Blanc. Elmer told the boys Mount Blanc was one of the highest mountains in Europe, about 10,000 feet above the level of the sea. "Great goodness!" exclaimed Bolax. "No one could ever climb such a height! Oh, Elmer let us be Esquimos." Saying this Joe Davis and Bo began a series of gyrations accompanied by war-whoops, and getting on their sleds, pitched down the hillside into an unexpected drift. Nothing could be seen of them but the soles of their shoes.

Elmer and the other boys set to work immediately to rescue the Indians. With the help of Don and Bosco both were gotten out after very hard digging with boards, for they dared not wait to go to find shovels, lest the boys would suffocate. When our brave Indians were delivered from their perilous position, it took vigorous rubbing to bring them to their senses.

Elmer then proposed placing them on the sleds and taking them home. On the way they stopped at a farmhouse and the good woman gave them some hot lemonade, with a generous supply of sugar, the boys found it delicious and were loud in their expressions of gratitude, for the hot drink entirely revived our Esquimos.

Passing along the road to the village they saw some grown folks in Houston's meadow sledding, and shouting as if they were boys again. Joe Davis' papa was among them, so he ran to join in the fun, not a whit the worse for his snow bath.

Elmer suddenly remembered that Professor had appointed that night for the rehearsal. "Oh, yes!" said Bo. "By the way, it's to be at our house and I had forgotten all about it. Mamma has invited some of the neighbors to spend the evening and act as audience, so that the timid ones will get used to playing before strangers. Here we are. The gate is open and there's a sleigh at the barn, I shouldn't wonder if Professor had come already. Elmer, do hurry back; don't dress as if it were the real concert."

When Bolax went into the library, Papa and Professor were chatting pleasantly, seated before a roaring fire with its yule log, reminding one of the "Merry Christmas" cheer of olden times. "Hello, my boy!" said Professor, reminding Bo that he had promised to distinguish himself and hoping he had practised so well as to be sure of all his pieces. "Marie Love is my prima donna and I want you to be leading man."

After tea the young ladies and children who were to take part in the concert came into the house laughing and shaking the snow from their clothes, all enjoyed the cheerful fire, and when comfortably warm the music began, as Professor did not wish to keep late hours on a snowy night.

Elmer gave a selection from the "Carnival of Venice" on the violin. Every one complimented him, but Bo was loud in praise of his favorite chum.

"What do you expect to do with yourself, Elmer, after you leave school?" asked Mr. Allen.

"Well, I hope to be a priest, I expect to enter the seminary next September."

"Hurrah!" exclaimed Bolax. "Now I know why you wanted to play Monks instead of Indians." This caused the whole adventure of the afternoon to be recounted. Professor laughed heartily at the exploit of the Indians, but begged Bo to keep out of danger until after the concert. "I don't want your head or hands to be lacking that night. Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you are ready we will begin. The first on the program is:

Oration on Music.

The pleasure derived from music arises from its exciting agreeable sensations, and creating pleasing mental images and emotions. Apart from words, it expresses passion and sentiment; joined to words it becomes a beautiful illustration of language. From the earliest ages of the world music was held in high esteem, and in Egypt and Greece was considered an essential part of the religion of these ancient nations. God's greatest gift for man's pleasure is the hearing of sweet sounds. He gives us music in songs of the birds and there is such a variety of these aeriel musicians. In Paraguay, South America, is a bird called the "bell." When traveling through the forest one hears it at early morning, at mid-day and in the evening. So wonderfully like a bell is the note of this bird that on hearing its clear ring at regular intervals, one would suppose he were listening to the Angelus-bell from the tower of some church or monastery.

Music must be loved to be studied profitably. Each new step taken in the right direction develops power and suggests possibilities to the loving student.

Music is useful in all occupations of life. How often have we not heard of missionaries converting savage tribes by telling them the truths of religion in song.

The physician can bring music with his practice and calm a nervous patient by playing a soft, soothing air, which sometimes has more effect than medicine.

Music is not only a body healer, it is also a mind regulator. Inward activities are called up, and become new powers within the breasts, for, remember emotion nerves for action.

The most stupid horse that goes up hill to the sound of bells, the timidest soldier that marches to battle with fife and drum, the most delicate girl who spins around tireless in the dance, the poorest laborer who sings at his work, any of them will prove that music rouses and sustains emotion.

Painting, sculpture and other arts which men spend years and years acquiring are useful for this world only, but music they can take with them to Heaven.

O, music! thou language of the Gods, how shall I find words wherewith to sound thy praises. Thou art the soother of sorrows, earth is happy under thy influence, and Heaven would be deprived of half its glory without thee!

This was very much applauded, and Colonel O'Brien called out "well done, Father Mullen, you'll be giving us fine sermons in a few years."

Next number is:

This ended the rehearsal. Professor than spoke a few words thanking the audience for their evident appreciation of his pupils' efforts.

Colonel O'Brien, who seemed to be spokesman for the rest of the company, said: "Professor, it is we who should thank you. I can honestly say I am surprised at the proficiency of your pupils; either they have extraordinary talent or you are a wonderfully successful master. Now let us give three cheers for Professor and wish him health, happiness and great success for the coming year." The cheers were given with a hearty ring, for the dear gentleman was highly esteemed by every one.

"Professor," said Elmer. "Bolax knows a fine piece, I think it ought to be on the program." "Well, Elmer, not this time; I fear we have kept our audience too long for such a stormy night."

"Oh, no, no!" called out several of the ladies. "Come, Bo let us hear your oration."

"Oh, bother! It is not an oration; it's just a funny piece about a newsboy, who got into a church and is astonished at all he hears and sees."

THE NEWSBOY'S SOLILOQUY ON HEARING A BOY SING IN CHURCH.

By Thomas Kelley, of Omaha.

Bo was applauded "to the echo," and Professor said that piece should be recited at the May Concert. Just before leaving, every guest had to take a cup of cocoa, as Hetty said. "You all jest drink it up, it will put a web of flannel round you' heart, an' keep out the cold dis freezin' night."

Elmer and the boys started a college song—"Good Night and Good-Bye 'Till We Meet Again."