THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS.
WAS 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 rose such a clatter,
I sprang from my 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 lustre 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
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Dunder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall! 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 house-top the coursers they flew,
With a 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 pedlar 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 on 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 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,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."
CLEMENT C. MOORE.
THE NIGHT AFTER CHRISTMAS.
'TWAS the night after Christmas, when all through
Every soul was a-bed and as still as a mouse;
The stockings (so lately St. Nicholas' care)
Were emptied of all that was eatable there;
The darlings had duly been tucked in their beds,
With very full stomachs and pains in their heads.
I was dozing away in my new cotton cap,
And Nancy was rather far gone in a nap,
When out in the nursery there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my sleep, crying, "What is the matter?"
I flew to each bedside, still half in a doze,
Tore open the curtains and threw off the clothes,
While the light of a candle served clearly to show
The piteous plight of the objects below;
For what to the father's fond eye should appear
But the little pale face of each sick little dear,
For each pet that had crammed itself as full as a tick
I knew in a moment now felt like Old Nick.
Their pulses were rapid, their breathings the same;
What their stomachs rejected I'll mention by name:
Now turkey, now stuffing, plum-pudding of course,
And custards, and crullers, and cranberry sauce.
Before outraged Nature all went to the wall-
Yes; lollypops, flapdoodle, dinner and all.
Like pellets which urchins from pop-guns let fly,
Went figs, nuts and raisins, jams, jelly and pie,
Till each error of diet was brought to my view,
To the shame of mamma and Santa Claus, too.
I turned from the sight, to my bed-room stepped back,
And brought out a vial marked "Pure Ipecac,"
When my Nancy exclaimed, for their sufferings shocked
"Don't you think you had better, love, go for the doctor?"
I went, and was scarcely back under my roof,
When I heard the sharp clatter of old "Jalap's" hoof;
I might say that I hardly had turned myself round,
When the doctor came into the room with a bound.
He was covered with mud from his head to his foot,
And the suit he had on was his very best suit;
He hardly had time to put that on his back,
And he looked like a Falstaff half-fuddled with sack. His eyes, how they twinkled! Had the doctor got merry? His cheeks looked like Port and his breath smelt like
He had n't been shaved for a fortnight or so,
And his beard nor his skin was n't, as "white as the
But inspecting their tongues, in spite of their teeth,
And drawing his watch from his waistcoat beneath,
He felt each pulse, saying, "Each little fellow
Must get rid "-here he laughed-"of the rest of that
jelly."
I gazed on each chubby, plump, sick little elf,
And groaned, when he said so, in spite of myself;
But a wink of his eye, when he physicked our Fred,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He did n't prescribe, but he went straight to his work,
And dosed all the rest, gave his trousers a jerk,
And adding directions, while blowing his nose,
He buttoned his coat, from his chair he arose.
Then jumped in his gig, gave old "Jalap" a whistle,
And "Jalap" dashed off as though pricked by a thistle;
But the doctor exclaimed, as he drove out of sight,
"They'll be all well to-morrow. Good-night, Jones!
Good-night!"
THE boy stood on the back-yard fence, whence all but
The flames that lit his father's barn shone just above the shed.
One bunch of crackers in his hand, two others in his hat, With piteous accents loud he cried, "I never thought of that!"
A bunch of crackers to the tail of one small dog he'd
The dog in anguish sought the barn, and 'mid its ruins
The sparks flew wide and red and hot, they lit upon that
They fired the crackers in his hand, and e'en those in
Then came a burst of rattling sound-the boy! Where was he gone?
Ask of the winds that far around strewed bits of meat and bone,
And scraps of clothes, and balls, and tops, and nails, and hooks, and yarn—
The relics of that dreadful boy that burned his father's barn.
THE CRESCENT AND THE CROSS.
IND was my friend who, in the Eastern land,
Remembered me with such a gracious hand, And sent this Moorish Crescent, which has been Worn on the haughty bosom of a queen.
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