THE SETTLER'S CHRISTMAS EVE.

In a patch of clearing, scarcely more
Than his brawny double hands,
With woods behind and woods before,
The Settler's cabin stands ;

A little, low, and lonesome shed,
With a roof of clapboards overhead.

Aye, low, so low the wind-warped eave
Hangs close against the door ;

You might almost stretch a bishop's sleeve
From the rafter to the floor ;
And the window is not too large, a whit,
For a lady's veil to curtain it.

The roof-tree's bent and knotty knees
By the Settler's axe are braced,

And the door-yard fence is three felled trees
With their bare arms interlaced;

And a grape-vine, shaggy and rough and red,
Swings from the well-sweep's high, sharp head.

And among the stubs, all charred and black, Away to the distant huts,

Winds in and out the wagon-track,

Cut full of zigzag ruts :

And down and down to the sluggish pond, And through and up to the swamps beyond.

And do you ask beneath such thatch

What heart or hope may be?

THE SETTLER'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 253

Just pull the string of the wooden latch,
And see what you shall see:

A hearth-stone broad and warm and wide,
With master and mistress either side.

And 'twixt them, in the radiant glow,
Prattling of Christmas joys,
With faces in a shining row,

Six children, girls and boys;

And in the cradle a head half-hid
By the shaggy wolf-skin coverlid.

For the baby sleeps in the shaded light
As gently as a lamb,

And two little stockings, scarlet bright,
Are hanging 'gainst the jamb;
And the yellow cat lies all of a curl
In the lap of a two-years' blue-eyed girl.

On the dresser, saved for weeks and weeks,
A hamper of apples stands,

And some are red as the children's cheeks,
And some are brown as their hands ;
For cakes and apples must stead, you see,
The rich man's costlier Christmas-tree.

A clock that looks like a skeleton,
From the corner ticks out bold;

And that never was such a clock to run
You would hardly need be told,

If you were to see the glances proud
Drawn toward it when it strikes so loud.

The Settler's rifle, bright and brown,
Hangs high on the rafter-hooks.

And swinging a hand's breadth lower down
Is a modest shelf of books;

Bible and Hymn-book, thumbed all through, "Baxter's Call," and a novel or two.

"Peter Wilkins," "The Bloody Hand,"
"The Sailor's Bride and Bark,"
"Jerusalem and the Holy Land,"

"The Travels of Lewis and Clarke;' Some tracts: among them, "The Milk-maid's Fall, "Pleasure Punished," and "Death at a Ball.”

A branch of sumach, shining bright,
And a stag-horn, deck the wall,

With a string of birds'-eggs, blue and white,
Beneath. But after all,

You will say the six little heads in a row
By the hearth-stone make the prettiest show.

The boldest urchin dares not stir ;

But each heart, be sure, rebels
As the father taps on the newspaper
With his brass-bowed spectacles;
And knitting-needle with needle clicks
As the mother waits for the politics.

He has rubbed the glass and rubbed the bow,
And now is a fearful pause:

Come, Molly!" he says,
" he says, “come Sue, come Joe,
And I'll tell you of Santa Claus!"
How the faces shine with glad surprise,
As if the souls looked out of the eyes.

THE SETTLER'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 255

In a trice the dozen ruddy legs

Are bare; and speckled and brown

And blue and gray, from the wall-side peg
The stockings dangle down ;

And the baby with wondering eyes, looks out
To see what the clatter is all about.

“And what will Santa Claus bring?" they tease, And, say, is he tall and fair?”

While the younger climb the good man's knees,
And the elder scale his chair

And the mother jogs the cradle, and tries
The charm of the dear old lullabies.

So happily the hours fly past,

'Tis pity to have them o’er ;

But the rusty weights of the clock, at last
Are dragging near the floor;

And the knitting kneedles, one and all,
Are stuck in the round, red knitting-ball.

Now, all of a sudden the father twirls
The empty apple-plate;

"Old Santa Claus don't like his girls

And boys to be up so late!"

He says, “And I'll warrant our star-faced cow,
He's waiting astride o' the chimney now."

Down the back of his chair they slide,

They slide down arm and knee:

"If Santa Claus is indeed outside,

He sha'n't be kept for me!

Cry one and all; and away they go,
Hurrying, flurrying, six in a row.

In the mother's eyes are happy tears

As she sees them flutter away;
"My man," she says, "it is sixteen years
Since our blessed wedding-day;
And I wouldn't think it but just a year
If it wasn't for all these children here."

And then they talk of what they will do
As the years shall come and go ;
Of schooling for little Molly and Sue,
And of land for John and Joe;

And Dick is so wise, and Dolly so fair,

They," says the mother, "will have luck to spare !

"Aye, aye, good wife, that's clear, that's clear 1"
Then, with eyes on the cradle bent,
"And what if he in the wolf-skin here
Turned out to be President?

Just think! O, wouldn't it be fine, —
Such fortune for your boy and mine!"

She stopped her heart with hope elate
And kissed the golden head :

Then, with the brawny hand of her mate
Folded in hers, she said :

"Walls as narrow, and a roof as low,

Have sheltered a President, you know."

And then they said they would work and wait,
The good, sweet-hearted pair —

You must have pulled the latch-string straight,
Had you in truth been there,

Feeling that you were not by leave

At the Sett'er's hearth that Christmas Eve.