A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, "T WAS the night before Christmas, when all He had a broad face and a little round belly through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap, When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the mat ter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave a lustre of midday to objects below; That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump, — a right jolly old elf; And I laughed, when I saw him, in spite of myself. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle; When what to my wondering eyes should ap- But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of pear, But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer, "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen ! On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen! So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of toys, — and St. Nicholas too. sight, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight!" CLEMENT C. MOORE. THE FROST. THE Frost looked forth, one still, clear night, I will not go like that blustering train, Then he went to the mountain, and powdered its crest, And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, dressed With diamonds and pearls, and over the breast Of the quivering lake he spread A coat of mail, that it need not fear And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes The downward point of many a spear and soot; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack. That he hung on its margin, far and near, Where a rock could rear its head. He went to the windows of those who slept, His eyes how they twinkled! his dimples how And over each pane like a fairy crept: merry His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry; His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow. Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped, By the light of the moon were seen Most beautiful things. There were flowers and trees, There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees, "Wath William Willith, if you pleathe, Be guilty of an act so rude! Before the whole set school to boot - WILLIAM PITT PALMER. OLD-SCHOOL PUNISHMENT. OLD Master Brown brought his ferule down, Then Anthony Blair, with a mortified air, And Anthony Blair seemed whimpering there, For he peeped at the girls with the beautiful curls, And ogled them over his sleeve. ANONYMOUS. THE BAREFOOT BOY. BLESSINGS on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan! With thy turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes ; With thy red lip, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill; With the sunshine on thy face, Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace; From my heart I give thee joy, I was once a barefoot boy! Prince thou art, the grown-up man Let the million-dollared ride! O for boyhood's painless play, O for boyhood's time of June, Crowding years in one brief moon, When all things I heard or saw, Me, their master, waited for. I was rich in flowers and trees, Humming-birds and honey-bees; For my sport the squirrel played, Plied the snouted mole his spade ; For my taste the blackberry cone Purpled over hedge and stone; 510479 A Laughed the brook for my delight O for festal dainties spread, I was monarch: pomp and joy Cheerly, then, my little man, Quick and treacherous sands of sin. JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. For many generations past Here is our family tree; My mother's hands this Bible clasped, Ah! well do I remember those Whose names these records bear; Who round the hearthstone used to close, After the evening prayer, And speak of what these pages said In tones my heart would thrill! My father read this holy book What thronging memories come! Within the halls of home! Thou truest friend man ever knew, Thy constancy I've tried; My counsellor and guide. The mines of earth no treasures give In teaching me the way to live, GEORGE PERKINS MORRIS. THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view! The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild wood, And every loved spot which my infancy knew ; The wide-spreading pond, and the mill which stood by it, The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell; The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it, And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well, The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well. That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure ; For often, at noon, when returned from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing! And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell; 1 |