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 he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes how they twinkle! 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 he drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!" CLEMENT C. MOORE.

The Star-Spangled Banner.

O, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleam

Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous

fight,

O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly stream

ing;

And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
O, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream.

'T is the star-spangled banner! O, long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?

Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave,

From the terror of death and the gloom of the grave.

And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

O, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand

Between their loved homes and the war's desolation; Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land Praise the power that has made and preserved us a nation.

Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just,

And this be our motto, "In God is our trust."

And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

FRANCIS SCOTT KEY.

Lucy's Flittin'.

"T WAS when the wan leaf frae the birk tree was fa'in', And Martinmas dowie had wound up the year, That Lucy row'd up her wee kist wi' her a' in 't

And left her auld maister and neebours sae dear. For Lucy had served in "The Glen" a' the simmer;

She cam' there afore the flower bloom'd on the pea; An orphan was she, and they had been gude till her, Sure that was the thing brocht the tear to her ee.

She gaed by the stable where Jamie was stannin',
Richt sair was his kind heart the flittin' to see:
Fare-ye-weel, Lucy! quo Jamie, and ran in;

The gatherin' tears trickled fast frae his ee.
As down the burn-side she gaed slow wi' the flittin',
Fare-ye-weel, Lucy! was ilka bird's sang;

She heard the craw sayin' 't, high on the tree sittin', And robin was chirpin' 't the brown leaves amang.

Oh, what is 't that pits my puir heart in a flutter?
And what gars the tears come sae fast to my ee?
If I wasna ettled to be ony better,

Then what gars me wish ony better to be?
I'm just like a lammie that loses its mither;
Nae mither or friend the puir lammie can see;
I fear I ha'e tint my puir heart a'thegither,

Nae wonder the tear fa's sae fast frae my ee.

Wi' the rest o' my claes I hae row'd up the ribbon, The bonnie blue ribbon that Jamie ga'e me; Yestreen, when he ga’e me 't, and saw I was sabbin', I'll never forget the wae blink o' his ee.

Though now he said naething but Fare-ye-weel, Lucy!
It made me I neither could speak, hear, nor see;
He cudna say mair but just, Fare-ye-weel, Lucy!
Yet that I will mind till the day that I dee.

[The lamb likes the gowan wi' dew when its droukit; The hare likes the brake, and the braird on the lea; But Lucy likes Jamie ;-she turned and she lookit,

She thocht the dear place she wad never mair see. Ah, weel may young Jamie gang dowie and cheerless, And weel may he greet on the bank o' the burn; For bonnie sweet Lucy, sae gentle and peerless, Lies cauld in her grave, and will never return.]

WILLIAM LAIDLAW.

A Litany for Boneraile.

ALAS! how dismal is my tale!—
I lost my watch in Doneraile;
My Dublin watch, my chain and seal,
Pilfered at once in Doneraile.

May fire and brimstone never fail
To fall in showers on Doneraile;
May all the leading fiends assail
The thieving town of Doneraile.

As lightnings flash across the vale,
So down to hell with Doneraile;
The fate of Pompey at Pharsale,
Be that the curse of Doneraile.

May beef or mutton, lamb or veal,
Be never found in Doneraile;
But garlic soup, and scurvy kail,
Be still the food for Doneraile.

And forward as the creeping snail
Th' industry be of Doneraile;
May Heaven a chosen curse entail
On rigid, rotten Doneraile.

May sun and moon forever fail
To beam their lights in Doneraile;

May every pestilential gale

Blast that cursed spot called Doneraile.

May no sweet cuckoo, thrush, or quail,
Be ever heard in Doneraile;

May patriots, kings, and commonweal,
Despise and harass Doneraile.

May every Post, Gazette, and Mail
Sad tidings bring of Doneraile;
May loudest thunders ring a peal,
To blind and deafen Doneraile.

May vengence fall at head and tail,
From north to south, at Doneraile;
May profit light, and tardy sale,
Still damp the trade of Doneraile.

May Fame resound a dismal tale,
Whene'er she lights on Doneraile;
May Egypt's plagues at once prevail,
To thin the knaves of Doneraile.

May frost and snow, and sleet and hail,
Benumb each joint in Doneraile;

May wolves and bloodhounds trace and trail
The cursed crew of Doneraile.

May Oscar, with his fiery flail,

To atoms thresh all Doneraile;
May every mischief, fresh and stale,
Abide, henceforth, in Doneraile.

May all, from Belfast to Kinsale,
Scoff, curse, and damn you, Doneraile;
May neither flour nor oatenmeal
Be found or known in Doneraile.