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 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 pedler 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 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,
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 they drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

JACK FROST.

THE Frost looked forth on a still, clear night,
And whispered, "Now, I shall be out of sight;
So, through the valley, and over the height,

In silence I'll take my way.

I will not go on like that blustering train,
The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,
That make such a bustle and noise in vain ;
But I'll be as busy as they!"

So he flew to the mountain, and powdered its crest.
He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed
With diamonds and pearls; and over the breast
Of the quivering lake, he spread

A coat of mail, that it need not fear

The glittering point of many a spear

Which he hung on its margin, far and near,
Where a rock could rear its head.

He went to the window of those who slept,
And over each pane like a fairy crept:
Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped,

By the morning light were seen

Most beautiful things! — there were flowers and trees,
There were bevies of birds, and swarms of bees;
There were cities and temples, and towers; and these
All pictured in silvery sheen!

But he did one thing that was hardly fair

He peeped in the cupboard: and finding there

That all had forgotten for him to prepare.

"Now, just to set them a-thinking,

I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he,
"This costly pitcher I'll burst in three!
And the glass of water they've left for me,
Shall 'tchick' to tell them I'm drinking."

Hannah F. Gould.

KITTY.

ALAS! little Kitty do give her your pity!

Had lived seven years, and was never called pretty!
Her hair was bright red and her eyes were dull blue,
And her cheeks were so freckled,

They looked like the speckled

Wild-lilies, which down in the meadow-lands grew
If her eyes had been black, if she'd only had curls
She had been, so she thought, the most happy of girls.

Her cousins around her, they pouted and fretted,
But they were all pretty and they were all petted;
While poor little Kitty, though striving her best
To do her child's duty,

Not sharing their beauty,

Was always neglected and never caressed.

All in vain, so she thought, was she loving and true,
While her hair was bright red, and her eyes were dull blue.

But one day, alone 'mid the clover-blooms sitting,
She heard a strange sound, as of wings round her flitting ;
A light not of sunbeams, a fragrance more sweet

Than the wind's, blowing over

The red-blossomed clover,

Made her thrill with delight from her head to her feet; And a voice, sweet and rare, whispered low in the air, "See that beautiful, beautiful child sitting there!"

Thrice blessed little Kitty! She almost looked pretty!
Beloved by the angels, she needed no pity!

O juvenile charmers! with shoulders of snow,
Ruby lips, sunny tresses, -

Forms made for caresses,

There's one thing, my beauties! 'tis well you should know : Though the world is in love with bright eyes and soft hair, It is only good children the angels call fair.- Marian Douglas.

WHAT?

WHAT was it that Charlie saw, to-day,
Down in the pool where the cattle lie?
A shoal of the spotted trout at play?
Or a sheeny dragon-fly?

;

The fly and the fish were there, indeed
But as for the puzzle,
guess again!
It was neither a shell, nor flower, nor reed,
Nor the nest of a last year's wren.

Some willows droop to the brooklet's bed;

Who knows but a bee had fallen down?
Or a spider, swung from his broken thread,
Was learning the way to drown?

You have not read me the riddle yet.
Not even the wing of a wounded bee,
Nor the web of a spider, torn and wet,
Did Charlie this morning see.

Now answer, you who have grown so wise,
What could the wonderful sight have been,
But the dimpled face and great blue eyes
Of the rogue who was looking in ?

Kate Putnam Osgood.

ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEST.

LITTLE Ellie sits alone

Mid the beeches of the meadow,
By a stream-side on the grass;
And the trees are showering down
Doubles of their leaves in shadow,
On her shining hair and face.

She has thrown her bonnet by;
And her feet she has been dipping
In the shallow water's flow.
Now she holds them nakedly
In her hands, all sleek and dripping
While she rocketh to and fro.

Little Ellie sits alone,

And the smile she softly uses,

Fills the silence like a speech;

While she thinks what shall be done, — And the sweetest pleasure chooses,

For her future within reach.

Little Ellie in her smile

Chooseth. . . . . "I will have a lover,
Riding on a steed of steeds!

He shall love me without guile :
And to him I will discover

That swan's nest among the reeds.

"And the steed it shall be red-roan, And the lover shall be noble,

With an eye that takes the breath ;
And the lute he plays upon,
Shall strike ladies into trouble,

As his sword strikes men to death!