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 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 the luster of midday 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! now, izen!

On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Dunder and Blixen!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves 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 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 was 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 little round belly,
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,
Soou gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all his 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."

A GRECIAN FABLE.

ONCE on a time, a son and sire, we 're told, –
The stripling tender, and the father old,
Purchased a donkey at a country fair,

To ease their limbs, and hawk about their ware;
But as the sluggish animal was weak,

They feared, if both should mount, his back would break.

Up got the boy, the father plods on foot,

And through the gazing crowd he leads the brute ; –

Forth from the crowd the graybeards hobble out,

And hail the cavalcade with feeble shout:

This the respect to feeble age you show?
And this the duty you to parents owe?
He beats the hoof, and you are set astride;
Sirrah! get down, and let your father ride!"
As Grecian lads were seldom void of grace,
The decent, duteous youth resigned his place.
Then a fresh murmur through the rabble ran;
Boys, girls, wives, widows, all attack the man :
"Sure ne'er was brute so void of nature!
Have you no pity for the pretty creature?
To your own baby can you be unkind?

Here, Luke, Bill, Betty, - put the child behind!
Old dapple next the clowns' compassion claimed:
"T is passing strange those boobies be n't ashamed,
Two at a time upon a poor dumb beast!

They might as well have carried him, at least."

The pair, still pliant to the partial voice,

Dismount, and bear the brute. Then what a noise!-
Huzzas, loud laughs, low gibe, and bitter joke,

From the yet silent sire these words provoke:

Proceed, my boy, nor heed their farther call;

Vain his attempt who strives to please them all! ” FOOTE.

THE COUNTRY BUMPKIN AND RAZOR SILI ER

A FELLOW, in a market town,

Most musical, cried razors up and down,
-And offered twelve for eighteen pence;

Which certainly seemed wondrous cheap;
And, for the money, quite a heap,

As every man would buy, with cash and sense.

A country bumpkin the great offer heard;
Poor Hodge, who suffered by a broad black beard,
That seemed a shoe-brush stuck beneath his nose;
With cheerfulness the eighteen pence he paid,
And proudly to himself in whisper said,
"This rascal stole the razors, I suppose.

"No matter if the fellow be a knave,
Provided that the razors shave;
It certainly will be a monstrous prize."

So home the clown with his good fortune went,
Smiling, in heart and soul content,

And quickly soaped himself to ears and eyes.

Being well lathered from a dish or tub,

Hodge now began, with grinning pain, to grub, Just like a hedger cutting furze :

'T was a vile razor! - then the rest he tried All were impostors!"Ah!" Hodge sighed, 'I wish my eighteen pence within my purse."

In vain to chase his beard, and bring the graces,

He cut and dug, and winced, and stamped, and swore, Brought blood and danced, blasphemed and made wry faces, And cursed each razor's body o'er and o'er.

His muzzle, formed of opposition stuff,
Firm as a Foxite, would not lose its ruff;
So kept it-laughing at the steel and suds.
Hodge, in a passion, stretched his angry jaws,

Vowing the direst vengeance, with clenched claws,

On the vile cheat that sold the goods.

"Razors! — a vile, confounded dog— Not fit to scrape a hog'

,,

Hodge sought the fellow-found him—and begun,
"Perhaps, Master Razor-rogue, to you 't is fun,
That people flay themselves out of their lives:
You rascal! for an hour have I been grubbing,
Giving my crying whiskers here a scrubbing,
With razors just like oyster-knives.

'Friend," quoth the razor man, "I'm not a knave: As for the razors you have bought,

Upon my soul, I never thought

That they would shave."

"Not think they'd shave?" quoth Hodge, with wondering eyes, And voice not much unlike an Indian yell;

"What were they made for, then, you dog?" he cries.

Made!" quoth the fellow, with a smile-"to sell."

WOLCOTT

QUEEN MAB.

Он, then, I see, queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies' mid wife; and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep:
Her wagon-spokes made of long spinners' legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams:
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film:
Her wagoner, a small gray-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid:
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight;

O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream or fees;
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream;
Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice;
Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear; at which he starts, and wakes;
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again

SHAKSPEARE.

THE RICH MAN AND THE POOR MAN,

So goes the world;

if wealthy, you may

call

friends and brothers all;

This friend, that brother ;-
Though you are worthless, witless- never mind it;
You may have been a stable boy — what then?
'Tis wealth, my friends, makes honorable men.
You seek respect, no doubt, and you will find it.

But if you are poor, heaven help you! though your sire
Had royal blood in him, and though you

Possess the intellect of angels too,

"T is all in vain ;- the world will ne'er inquire

On such a score:- why should it take the pains?
'Tis easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains.

I once saw a poor fellow, keen and clever,
Witty and wise; he paid a man a visit,
And no one noticed him, and no one ever

Gave him a welcome. "Strange," cried I, "whence is it ?."
He walked on this side, then on that,
He tried to introduce a social chat;
Now here, now there, in vain he tried ;
Some formally and freezingly replied,
And some said by their silence-

A rich man burst the door,
As Croesus rich; - I'm sure

"Better stay at home."