So thinking, he gently extinguished the light, What presents old Santa Claus brought in the night "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 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, Blind father! who caused your stern heart to relent, 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 inscription "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!" THERE was a tumult in the city, In the quaint old Quaker town, And the streets were rife with people Where they whispered each to each, As the bleak Atlantic currents Lash the wild Newfoundland shore, "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 stifling!" "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 Truth and reason for their guide. 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 See! See! The dense crowd quivers Hushed the people's swelling murmur, The old bellman lifts his hand, Forth he sends the good news, making Iron music through the land. How they shouted! What rejoicing! Lighted up the night's repose, And from the flames, like fabled Phoenix, That old State-House bell is silent, But the spirit it awakened Still is living-ever young; We will ne'er forget the bellman T MRS. CAUDLE'S LECTURE. HERE, Mr. Caudle, I hope you're in a little better 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 shirt— what 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? But that's how you Yes, it is worth talking of! 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. Oh, you're aggra |