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So thinking, he gently extinguished the light,
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 blessèd mamma, so long ago dead, Used to kneel down by the side of her chair, And that God 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.
Mrs. Sophia P. Snow.
INDEPENDENCE BELL-JULY 4, 1776.
When the Declaration of Independence was adopted by Congress the event was announced by ringing the old State House bell, which bore the inscriptiou “Proclaim liberty throughout the land, to all the inhabitants thereof!" The old bellman stationed his little grandson at the door of the hall to await the instructions of the door-keeper when to ring. At the word, the young patriot rushed out, and, clapping his hands, shouted: “Ring! RING! RING!"
MHERE was a tumult in the city,
1 In the quaint old Quaker town,
Pacing restless up and down-
Where they whispered each to each, .
With the earnestness of speech.
As the bleak Atlantic currents
Lash the wild Newfoundland shore,
So they surged against the door;
Made a harmony profound,
Was all turbulent with sound.
“Will they do it ?” “Dare they do it?”
“Who is speaking ?” “What's the news ?” “What of Adams?” “What of Sherman ?”
“Oh, God grant they won't refuse!" “Make some way there!” “Let me nearer!"
“I am stilling!” “Stifle, then! When a nation's life's at hazard,
We've no time to think of men !”
So they surged against the State-House
While all solemuly inside Sat the Continental Congress,
Truth and reason for their guide. O'er a simple scroll debating,
Which, though simple it might be, Yet should shake the cliffs of England
With the thunders of the free. Far aloft in that high steeple
Sat the bellman, old and gray; He was weary of the tyrant
And his iron-sceptered sway.
On the clapper of the bell,
The long-expected news, to tell.
Through all its lengthy line, As the boy beside the portal
Hastens forth to give the sign! With his little hands uplifted,
Breezes dallying with his hair, Hark! with deep, clear intonation,
Breaks his young voice on the air: Hushed the people's swelling murmur,
Whilst the boy cries joyously ; “Ring !” he shouts, “Ring! grandpapa,
Ring! oh, ring for Liberty !'' Quickly, at the given signal,
The old bellman lifts his hand, Forth he sends the good news, making
Iron music through the land.
How they shouted! What rejoicing!
How the old bell shook the air,
The calmly gliding Delaware!
Lighted up the night's repose,
Our glorious liberty arose !
Hushed is now its clamorous tongue
Still is living-ever young;
On the fourth of each July,
Who, betwixt the earth and sky,
Which, please God, shall never die!
MRS. CAUDLE’S LECTURE. MHERE, Mr. Caudle, I hope you're in a little better
1 temper than you were this morning. There, you needn't begin to whistle: people don't come to bed to whistle. But it's like you; I can't speak, that you don't try to insult me. Once, I used to say you were the best creature living: now, you get quite a fiend. Do let you rest ? No, I won't let you rest. It's the only time I have to talk to you, and you shall hear me. I'm put upon all day long : it's very hard if I can't speak a word at night; and it isn't often I open my mouth, goodness knows !
Because once in your lifetime your shirt wanted a button, you must almost swear the roof off the house. You didn't swear? Ha, Mr. Caudle! you don't know what you do when you're in a passion. You were not in a passion, wer'n't you? Well, then I don't know what a passion is; and I think I ought by this time. I've lived long enough with you, Mr. Caudle, to know that.
It's a pity you hav'n't something worse to complain of than a button off your shirt. If you'd some wives, you would, I know. I'm sure I'm never without a needleand-thread in my hand; what with you and the children, I'm made a perfect slave of. And what's my thanks ? Why, if once in your life a button's off your shirtwhat do you say “ah” at? I say once, Mr. Caudle; or twice or three times, at most. I'm sure, Caudle, no man's buttons in the world are better looked after than yours. I only wish I'd kept the shirts you had when you were first married! I should like to know where were your buttons then ?
Yes, it is worth talking of! But that's how you always try to put me down. You fly into a rage, and then, if I only try to speak, you won't hear me. That's how you men always will have all the talk to yourselves: a poor woman isn't allowed to get a word in. A nice notion you have of a wife, to suppose she's nothing to think of but her husband's buttons. A pretty notion, indeed, you have of marriage. Ha! if poor women only knew what they had to go through! What with buttons,and one thing and another! They'd never tie themselves up to the best man in the world, I'm sure. What would they do, Mr. Caudle?— Why, do much better without you, I'm certain.
And it's my belief, after all, that the button wasn't off the shirt; it's my belief that you pulled it off, that you might have something to talk about. On, you're aggra