The Night Before Christmas

It was the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, and hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled, all snug in their beds, while visions of sugarplums danced in their heads, and mama and her kerchief and iron my cat had just settled down for a long winter's now. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the 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 fall and snow gave the luster of midday to objects below.

When what to my wandering eyes should appear but a miniature sleigh and eat tiny reindeer. With a little old driver so lively and quick I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick. rapid than eagles his coarser's they came and he whistled and shouted and called them by name.

No dasher, no dancer, no prancer and vixen, on comet, on cupid, on donner and blitzen, to the top of the porch, to the top of the wall. No 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 housetop the coarser 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 poring of each little hoof. As I drew in my head and was turning around, down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.