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PLAZA OF THE POETS.

GLAD TIDINGS

(Of Great Joy to the Lords of Earth and the Saviors of Society in our Christian Churches, concerning the Spiritualized Meaning of the Words and Deeds of the Workingman of Nazareth, Savior of Men).

BY MARION MILLS MILLER.

God rest you, Christian gentlemen,

Let nothing you dismay,

For Christ, the blessèd Savior,

Was born on Christmas Day,

In a mystic time and a holy clime,
Long past and far away.

God rest you, Christian gentlemen,
For wherefore should ye fear?
The Communist of Nazareth

Is dead this many a year,

And the words he taught and the deeds he wrought

Can never come you near.

So rest you, Christian gentlemen,
From every cark and care,

If rest you can while your brother man

Wanders the highway bare

To find a place where the hornèd race
Their straw-laid bed may share.

Ay, rest you, Christian gentlemen,
God grant you peace of mind,

If grant he will, while his children still
Than the beasts are more unkind;

Nor in house and hall, but in byre and stall,
The poor their refuge find.

God rest you, Christian gentlemen,
Whose Master knew no rest,

With never a bed for his weary head

But that of the earth's cold breast,― A couch more bare than the fox's lair, More drear than the wild bird's nest.

God rest you, Christian gentlemen,
Take comfort to your souls,

And the pestering poor about your door,
Send back to their proper holes ;

If the cold bare sod was enough for our God,

Why clamor the Huns and Poles?

God rest you, Christian gentlemen,

Did not the Master say

'Tis the will divine that the poor should pine,

"The poor ye have alway"?

'Tis the Judas heart that takes their part, Would ye your Lord betray?

Ay, rest you, Christian gentlemen,
And for your resting-place,

On priceless land build churches grand,
With many a cushioned space

Where ye may nod at peace with God
Before the Throne of Grace.

God rest you, Christian gentlemen,
The while you hear the Word,
And Levites sleek of the surplice speak
Deep counsels of the Lord,

And His words that burn, into fable turn
When the fact is too absurd.

God rest you, Christian gentlemen,
The while your hirelings try
To smoothly lay the narrow way

To mansions in the sky,

And with shifted load, your camels goad
To thread the needle's eye.

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THE YULE LOG.

BY CLINTON SCOLLARD.

Hale the Yule log in;

Heap the fagots high;
With a merry din
Rouse old Revelry!
Cry "Noel! Noel!"
Till the rafters ring,
And the gleeful bell
Peals its answering!

Brim the Christmas cup

From the wassail-bowl,

Now the flame leaps up
With its ruddy soul!
In the glowing blaze

How the dancers spin!
Deftest in the maze,

Nimble Harlequin !

Grim Snapdragon comes
With his mimic ire,
And his feast of plums
Smothered in the fire.
O the days of mirth,

And the nights akin! Heap the Christmas hearth; Hale the Yule log in!

HOW TO GET AN ARTICLE INTO A MAGAZINE.

BY THE EDITOR.

I1

T would appear that the Editor of THE ARENA has entertained an angel unawares. In the early summer a gentleman calling himself Niels Grön, who, as we remember, was at that time an applicant for a foreign appointment at the hands of the government, came in person to THE ARENA office and presented for publication a manuscript entitled "Points in the American and French Constitutions Compared." This paper the Editor accepted on account of its merits, though he was impressed at the time that Mr. Grön was unduly anxious about his appointment, and was, as we thought, secretly hoping that the publication of his contribution might promote his chances for the place. Our recollection is that Mr. Grön wanted to be consul to Java or maybe it was only London. Perhaps he has received the appointment, in which event we send our condolence to Java-or Great Britain, as the case may be.

These remarks are introductory to the following communication, which we have just received from no less a personage than the well-known Mr. John Joseph Conway, Editor of Galignani's Messenger, now become the Daily Messenger, of Paris. We offer no comment in publishing Mr. Conway's communication further than to commend Mr. Niels Grön to the thoughtful consideration of the literary public. Should any reputable journal be in need of a first-class article, application may be made to Mr. Grön, who, we doubt not, will furnish the same (by proxy) "at the usual rates."

Read Mr. Conway's letter and reflect upon the possibilities of literary production when inspired with the hope of governmental favor and a deep notion of honor as an ingredient in human conduct.

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