'Twas the night before Christmas, when all 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 the bed to see what was the matter.
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 luster of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Dunder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
Now, dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the housetop the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas, too.
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled!—his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a round little belly,
That shook when he laughed like a bowlful 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,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle;
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
Clement Clarke Moore.

A NURSERY LEGEND

Oh! listen, little children, to a proper little song Of a naughty little urchin who was always doing wrong: He disobey'd his mammy, and he disobey'd his dad, And he disobey'd his uncle, which was very near as bad. He wouldn't learn to cipher, and he wouldn't learn to write, But he would tear up his copy-books to fabricate a kite; And he used his slate and pencil in so barbarous a way, That the grinders of his governess got looser ev'ry day. At last he grew so obstinate that no one could contrive To cure him of a theory that two and two made five And, when they taught him how to spell, he show'd his wicked whims By mutilating Pinnock and mislaying Watts's Hymns. Instead of all such pretty books, (which must improve the mind,) He cultivated volumes of a most improper kind; Directories and almanacks he studied on the sly, And gloated over Bradshaw's Guide when nobody was by. From such a course of reading you can easily divine The condition of his morals at the age of eight or nine. His tone of conversation kept becoming worse and worse, Till it scandalised his governess and horrified his nurse. He quoted bits of Bradshaw that were quite unfit to hear, And recited from the Almanack, no matter who was near: He talked of Reigate Junction and of trains both up and down, And referr'd to men who call'd themselves Jones, Robinson, and Brown. But when this naughty boy grew up he found the proverb true, That Fate one day makes people pay for all the wrong they do. He was cheated out of money by a man whose name was Brown, And got crippled in a railway smash while coming up to town. So, little boys and little girls, take warning while you can, And profit by the history of this unhappy man. Read Dr. Watts and Pinnock, dears; and when you learn to spell, Shun Railway Guides, Directories, and Almanacks as well! Henry S. Leigh.

A LITTLE GOOSE

The chill November day was done,
The working world home faring;
The wind came roaring through the streets
And set the gas-lights flaring;
And hopelessly and aimlessly
The scared old leaves were flying;
When, mingled with the sighing wind,
I heard a small voice crying.
And shivering on the corner stood
A child of four, or over;
No cloak or hat her small, soft arms,
And wind blown curls to cover.
Her dimpled face was stained with tears;
Her round blue eyes ran over;
She cherished in her wee, cold hand,
A bunch of faded clover.

And one hand round her treasure while
She slipped in mine the other:
Half scared, half confidential, said,
"Oh! please, I want my mother!"
"Tell me your street and number, pet:
Don't cry, I'll take you to it."
Sobbing she answered, "I forget:
The organ made me do it.
"He came and played at Milly's steps,
The monkey took the money;
And so I followed down the street,
The monkey was so funny.
I've walked about a hundred hours,
From one street to another:
The monkey's gone, I've spoiled my flowers,
Oh! please, I want my mother."
"But what's your mother's name? and what
The street? Now think a minute."
"My mother's name is mamma dear—
The street—I can't begin it."
"But what is strange about the house,
Or new—not like the others?"
"I guess you mean my trundle-bed,
Mine and my little brother's.
"Oh dear! I ought to be at home
To help him say his prayers,—
He's such a baby he forgets;
And we are both such players;—
And there's a bar to keep us both
From pitching on each other,
For Harry rolls when he's asleep:
Oh dear! I want my mother."
The sky grew stormy; people passed
All muffled, homeward faring:
"You'll have to spend the night with me,"
I said at last, despairing,
I tied a kerchief round her neck—
"What ribbon's this, my blossom?"
"Why don't you know!" she smiling, said,
And drew it from her bosom.
A card with number, street, and name;
My eyes astonished met it;
"For," said the little one, "you see
I might sometimes forget it:
And so I wear a little thing
That tells you all about it;
For mother says she's very sure
I should get lost without it."
Eliza Sproat Turner.

LEEDLE YAWCOB STRAUSS

I haf von funny leedle poy,
Vot comes schust to mine knee;
Der queerest schap, der createst rogue,
As efer you dit see.
He runs, und schumps, und schmashes dings
In all barts off der house:
But vot off dot? He vas mine son,
Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss.
He get der measles und der mumbs
And eferyding dot's oudt;
He sbills mine glass off lager bier,
Poots schnuff indo mine kraut.
He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese—
Dot vas der roughest chouse;
I'd dake dot vrom no oder poy
But leedle Yawcob Strauss.
He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum,
Und cuts mine cane in dwo,
To make der schticks to beat it mit—
Mine cracious, dot vas drue!
I dinks mine hed vas schplit abart,
He kicks oup sooch a touse:
But nefer mind; der poys vas few
Like dot young Yawcob Strauss.
He asks me questions sooch as dese:
Who baints mine nose so red?
Who vas it cuts dot schmoodth blace oudt
Vrom der hair ubon mine hed?
Und vere dere plaze goes vrom her lamp
Vene'er der glim I douse.
How gan I all dose dings eggsblain
To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss?
I somedimes dink I schall go vild
Mit sooch a grazy poy,
Und vish vonce more I gould haf rest,
Und beaceful dimes enshoy;
But ven he vas aschleep in ped
So guiet as a mouse,
I prays der Lord, "Dake anyding,
But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss."
Charles Follen Adams.