The Night Before Christmas

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. Children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads.

Turn the page, and mama in her kerchief and eye in my cap had just settled down for a long winter's nap. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash. Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow gave a luster of midday to objects below.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer with a little old driver so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. more rapid than eagles his courses they came, and he whistled and shouted and cold them by name, No dasher, no dasher, no pressure and victims, on covet, on cupid, on dutter and bleason,

to the top of the porch, to the top of the wall, now dasher way, dasher way, dasher way, 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 courses they flew with a sleighful of toys and St. Nicholas too.

Turn the page. And then in a twinkle I heard on the roof the prancing and poying of each little hook. As I drew in my head and was turning around down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bow.