Part 36 (2/2)

Then he turned to the stairs and softly went down, Threw off velvet slippers and silk dressing-gown, Donned hat, coat, and boots, and was out in the street-- A millionaire facing the cold driving sleet!

Nor stopped he until he had bought every thing, From the box full of candy to the tiny gold ring; Indeed, he kept adding so much to his store, That the various presents outnumbered a score.

Then homeward he turned, when his holiday load, With Aunt Mary's help, in the nursery was stowed.

Miss Dolly was seated beneath a pine tree, By the side of a table spread out for her tea; A work-box well filled in the centre was laid And on it the ring for which Annie had prayed.

A soldier in uniform stood by a sled ”With bright s.h.i.+ning runners, and all painted red.”

There were b.a.l.l.s, dogs, and horses, books pleasing to see, And birds of all colors were perched in the tree!

While Santa Claus, laughing, stood up in the top, As if getting ready more presents to drop.

And as the fond father the picture surveyed, He thought for his trouble he had amply been paid, And he said to himself, as he brushed off a tear, ”I'm happier to-night than I've been for a year; I've enjoyed more true pleasure than ever before, What care I if bank stock falls ten per cent more Hereafter I'll make it a rule, I believe, To have Santa Claus visit us each Christmas Eve.”

So thinking, he gently extinguished the light, And, tripping down stairs, retired for the night.

As soon as the beams of the bright morning sun Put the darkness to flight, and the stars one by one.

Four little blue eyes out of sleep opened wide, And at the same moment the presents espied; Then out of their beds they sprang with a bound, And the very gifts prayed for were all of them found.

They laughed and they cried, in their innocent glee, And shouted for papa to come quick and see What presents old Santa Claus brought in the night (Just the things that they wanted), and left before light; ”And now,” added Annie, in a voice soft and low, ”You'll believe there's a 'Santa Claus,' papa, I know;”

While dear little Willie climbed up on his knee, Determined no secret between them should be, And told in soft whispers how Annie had said That their dear blessed mamma, so long ago dead, Used to kneel down by the side of her chair, And that G.o.d up in heaven had answered her prayer.

”Den we dot up and prayed dust well as we tould, And Dod answered our prayers: now wasn't He dood?”

”I should say that He was if He sent you all these, And knew just what presents my children would please.

(Well, well, let him think so, the dear little elf, 'Twould be cruel to tell him I did it myself.)”

Blind father! who caused your stern heart to relent, And the hasty words spoken so soon to repent?

'Twas the Being who bade you steal softly up stairs, And made you His agent to answer their prayers.

THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET.

BY SAMUEL WOODWORTH.

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 bucket 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; Then soon with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well.

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket arose from the well.

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, As poised on the curb it inclined to my lips!

Not a full blus.h.i.+ng goblet could tempt me to leave it, Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips.

And now, far removed from the loved situation, The tear of regret will intrusively swell, As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well; The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket, which hangs in the well.

MR. WINKLE PUTS ON SKATES.

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