It was Christmas Eve; the brilliantly-lighted streets were thronged with happy faces, and the merry hum of children’s voices seemed to rise above all other sounds in the busy crowd. Our own young folks had gone to rest with their little hearts filled with joyous expectations for the morrow. The stockings, hung by the chimney corner, had already been duly visited by the representatives of Santa Claus, and fatigued with the labors of the day, we would gladly have sought repose, when a gentle ring at the bell attracted our attention, and directly after, our maid of all work entered, and asked if we had any thing to give to a poor child who was standing at our door.

“Poor thing!” we exclaimed involuntarily. “It is hard to think that any child is begging from door to door, on Christmas Eve, when our own darlings are so happy.”

“Tell the child to step in,” was the direction to Jenny, and in a few moments a modest-looking little girl stood before us. Her slender form was but scantily protected from the cold; and her countenance showed that she was indeed in need of the assistance which she craved.

Her tale was a simple one. Her mother was very poor, and there were five children, of whom she was the eldest.

We inquired for the father, and her blue eyes were fixed upon the ground, as she answered timidly, that he was at home, but he was often sick, and did not do much for their support. A few more questions convinced us that he was a victim to that fatal evil which destroys the happiness of so many homes.

Our means would not allow us to do much for the poor child, but the little that we had to give was given cheerfully, and with many thanks she bade us good evening. As she left the room I recalled her, and placing a small piece of silver in her hands, I said:

“You may have this for yourself. I give it to you for a Christmas gift.”

“And may I spend it for what I please?” she asked, her whole face brightening with pleasure.

“Certainly. What will you buy?”

“O, a great many things! A present for mother and each of my brothers and sisters, and one for poor father too.”

“But, my child, you have not money enough to buy something for each one.”

“O yes, ma’am, a great plenty! I will buy a nice spool of cotton for mother, she needs one very much, and a penny book for Mary, a whistle for Johnny, a cake for Thomas, and a stick of candy for the baby. Then there will be four cents to spend for father, and I will go to the cheap bookstore, and ask them to sell me some good book, which will teach him not to drink rum any more. He is very, very kind when he is sober.”

“And will you come and see me again next week, and tell me how they liked their presents?” I asked, much interested by the simple, disinterested manner of the child.

“Thank you, ma’am, I will gladly do so,” was the reply, and with another grateful good-evening, she departed.

This little incident gave rise to a train of sad reflections. Happiness, it appeared to me, was unequally distributed. Even at this most joyous season of the year, how few sunbeams found their way to the homes of the poor. Indeed, their burdens must seem more heavy to bear, when contrasted with the luxury and gayety of the wealthy. They gazed upon their ill-fed, half naked little ones, while the children of their more prosperous neighbor passed their door loaded with useless toys, the price of which would have seemed to them a little mine of wealth. Oppressed with these thoughts, I laid my head upon my pillow, and was soon in the land of dreams.

Strange visions flitted before me. At one time I seemed to be revelling in the luxurious mansions of the rich, and then, by some sudden and mysterious transformation, the extreme of want was my portion. Suddenly a lovely being stood before me, whose very presence seemed to fill my soul with joy. Taking my hand in hers, she said, “Come with me, and I will show thee that this joyous season of the year may bring happiness to the homes of the poor, as well as to those of the wealthy. I am the Spirit of Happiness, and in the most humble abode on earth I often find a dwelling-place.” Joyfully I yielded to her guidance, and together we seemed to traverse the busy streets of the city. At one of the most splendid of the brilliantly-illuminated mansions we paused, and in another moment had gained admittance, and, apparently unseen ourselves, surveyed the happy party within. Young men and maidens were gliding through the graceful figures of the merry dance, lovely children were sporting around, joyfully displaying the Christmas gifts of parents and friends; while a less active, but no less happy looking group, were seated in a distant part of the room, gazing with quiet pleasure upon their children and grandchildren, who at this cheerful season had gathered around them. Every thing around gave evidence of luxury and splendor, and turning to my companion, I exclaimed almost in a tone of upbraiding:

“Yes, here indeed is happiness. The New Year is to them a time for rejoicing, and ‘Merry Christmas’ a day of joyful expectations and realities; but it is not thus with the poor. The words merriment and joy would seem to them a mockery.”

“Not so, my friend,” replied my guide. “The happiness which you see before you is capable of extension. These are the mediums of the blessings of Him whose birth into this natural world they now celebrate. The day which proclaimed peace and good will upon earth, is well calculated to remind these stewards of the Lord, that the wealth intrusted to their charge is not for themselves alone. Behold that venerable old man. He is the grandfather of this little flock. Every year he distributes large sums among the poor, making his grandchildren and great grandchildren his almoners. The happiness which you see in the countenances of the youth and maidens, the innocent glee of the children, is in a great measure caused by the joy which they have this day dispensed among the needy. Merely selfish gratification would not produce genuine contentment and joy. All selfish delights are evanescent and changeable.”

The scene changed, and we stood in a meanly-furnished apartment of one of the most humble dwellings in a narrow street of the city. A father, mother, and five children, were just seated to partake of their frugal meal. Every thing around told of poverty, but the countenances of the parents beamed with contentment, and the bright eyes of the children shone with joy. In the short but fervent prayer which the father uttered ere they commenced eating, gratitude was expressed to heaven for the blessings which this most joyful season of the year had brought to them.

“For what are they thus grateful?” I inquired. “Contrast their situation with that of the happy party whom we have just left.”

“And yet they are not less happy,” was the reply. “Listen to the joyful exclamations of the children.”

I listened, and the words of the little ones soon convinced me that my guide was right. Their hearts seemed overflowing with joy. The gifts which Christmas had brought to them and their parents were, mostly, substantial articles of food and clothing; but there was one small package of toys which had lost the charm of novelty for the children of some wealthy neighbor, and which, though no longer new and glittering, were whole and good. In the eyes of the poor children they were of inestimable value, and they gathered around them with so much delight, that I doubted not that they derived more pleasure from them than the original possessors had ever done.

Again the scene changed, and we stood in a miserable hovel, where sat a poor mother, with three little children clinging to her side, and rending her heart with their cries for bread. No fire was on the hearth, and the whole scene was one of extreme poverty and desolation.

“Surely there is no happiness here,” I whispered.

“Christmas will bring them at least one ray,” replied my guide; and even as she spoke, a load of wood and coal stopped at their door, and a man entered to inform them that he had orders to supply them with fuel, and desired to know where it should be put. While the grateful woman was yet uttering heartfelt expressions of thankfulness, a lad entered with a large basket of provisions, which he placed upon the table, at the same time slipping a bank note of trifling value into her hand, saying gayly,—

“Here is a merry Christmas to you, my good woman.”

Tears streamed from the eyes of the mother, while the hungry little ones clustered around the basket, and were soon bountifully supplied with a portion of its contents.

Deeply interested in this affecting little scene, I had nearly forgotten the presence of my companion, when a gentle whisper aroused me.

“Would you see the effects of your own Christmas gift?” and scarcely had I signified my assent, when we stood in another humble dwelling, where I recognized the little girl to whom I had given the shilling, surrounded by her family. They had apparently just received their gifts, for the mother was smiling through her tears, as she looked at the spool of cotton which lay on her lap; and Mary, and Johnny, and Thomas, and the baby were all in the enjoyment of the book, the whistle, the cake, and the candy: while the elder sister stood gazing on the happy little group, herself the happiest of them all, and joining heartily in the blessings which they heaped upon the good lady who had given her the shilling. In the corner of the room sat the father, and in his hand was the book which had been purchased at the cheap bookstore with the four cents. I saw at once that it was a Testament. He had not yet opened it, but sat looking at his wife and children with a subdued, mournful expression of countenance, which awakened a strong conviction that there was yet a chance for his reformation.

At length little Mary approached him timidly, and said:

“Look at the book sister bought for me, father; it is not so large as yours. May I look at yours?”

“Yes, Mary, you may read to me from it, if you like; my head aches, and I cannot read myself.”

The noisy mirth of the children was hushed, while the child read from the Book of Life. Some of the passages were singularly appropriate, and tears rolled down the cheeks of the unhappy man as he listened. As she paused at the close of the chapter, the elder girl drew to his side and whispered,—

“Will you not pray with us, as you used to do long ago, dear father?”

As if impelled by an irresistible power, he complied. Prayer and praise had long been strangers to his lips, but now his petitions were fervent, his confessions of past error full, and expressive of deep humility.

As they rose from their knees, the eyes of the husband and wife met, and they fell into each others arms.

One long, earnest embrace, and then the father clasped his children to his bosom.

“With the help of God, I will no longer be unworthy of you,” he exclaimed. “This precious little Christmas gift shall be my guide, and in obedience to its precepts we shall yet find happiness.”

I uttered a joyful exclamation and awoke, but the remembrance of my dream was vividly present; and as the rays of the morning sun beamed brightly in at our windows, I felt a pleasing confidence that the day would bring happiness to the poor as well as to the rich. All reflections upon the visions of the night were soon banished, however, by the shouts of “Merry Christmas” from numerous happy little voices at our door, and we hastened to join in their pleasure.

A week passed by, and the little heroine of Christmas Eve again stood at our door. It was wonderful what a change a few happy days had wrought in her appearance; and her whole face was radiant with joy, as she told me that they were all so happy now.

“Dear father had promised never to drink again, and he had good work, and they could all live comfortably.” And again and again she assured me that their happiness was all owing, through the blessing of God, to the little book which she bought for father with a part of my Christmas gift.