"Am dat so?" (counting), "firty-free, firty-foah, firty-five, firty-six, firty-seben, firty-eight, firty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two, forty-free. Hit am so singular dat you has sich old childruns. I can't b'leeve you has granchildruns. You don't look more den forty yeahs ole yerseff."

"Nonsense, old man, I see you want to flatter me. When a person gets to be fifty-three years old----"

"Fifty-free? I jess dun gwinter beleeve hit, fifty-free, fifty-foah, fifty-five, fifty-six--I want you to pay tenshun when I counts de eggs, so dar'll be no mistake--fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-tree, sixty-foah--Whew. Dat am a warm day. Dis am de time ob yeah when I feels I'se gettin' old myself. I ain't long fer dis world. You comes from an old family. When your fodder died he was sebenty years ole."

"Seventy-two."

"Dat's old, suah. Sebenty-two, sebenty-free, sebenty-foah, sebenty-five, sebenty-six, sebenty-seben, sebenty-eight, sebenty-nine--and your mudder?

She was one ob the n.o.blest looking ladies I ebber see. You reminds me ob her so much. She libbed to mos' a hundred. I bleeves she was done pa.s.s a centurion when she died."

"No, Uncle Mose, she was only ninety-six when she died."

"Den she warn't no chicken when she died. I know dat--ninety-six, ninety-seben, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred, one, two, free, foah, five, six, seben, eight--dar 108 nice fresh eggs--jess nine dozen, and here am one moah egg in case I has discounted myself."

Old Mose went on his way rejoicing. A few days afterward Mrs. Burton said to her husband:

"I am afraid we will have to discharge Matilda. I am satisfied she steals the milk and eggs. I am positive about the eggs, for I bought them day before yesterday, and now about half of them are gone. I stood right there and heard Old Mose count them myself and there were nine dozen."

ANNIE AND WILLIE'S PRAYER.

BY MRS. SOPHIA P. SNOW.

'Twas the eve before Christmas, "Good-night" had been said, And Annie and Willie had crept into bed; There were tears on their pillows, and tears in their eyes, And each little bosom was heaving with sighs, For to-night their stern father's command had been given That they should retire precisely at seven Instead of at eight--for they troubled him more With questions unheard of than ever before: He had told them he thought this delusion a sin, No such a creature as "Santa Claus" ever had been.

And he hoped, after this, he should never more hear How he scrambled down chimneys with presents each year.

And this was the reason that two little heads So restlessly tossed on their soft, downy beds.

Eight, nine, and the clock on the steeple tolled ten, Not a word had been spoken by either till then, When Willie's sad face from the blanket did peep, And whispered, "Dear Annie, is 'ou fast as'eep?"

"Why no, brother Willie," a sweet voice replies, "I've long tried in vain, but I can't shut my eyes, For somehow it makes me so sorry because Dear papa has said there is no 'Santa Claus,'

Now we know there is, and it can't be denied, For he came every year before mamma died; But, then, I've been thinking that she used to pray, And G.o.d would hear everything mamma would say, And maybe she asked him to send Santa Claus here With the sack full of presents he brought every year."

"Well, why tan't we p'ay dest as mamma did den, And ask Dod to send him with p'esents aden?"

"I've been thinking so too," and without a word more Four little bare feet bounded out on the floor, And four little knees the carpet pressed, And two tiny hands were clasped close to each breast.

"Now Willie, you know we must firmly believe That the presents we asked for we're sure to receive; You must wait very still till I say the 'Amen,'

And by that you will know that your turn has come then."

"Dear Jesus, look down on my brother and me, And grant us the favor we are asking of thee.

I want a wax dolly, a tea-set and ring, And an ebony work-box that shuts with a spring.

Bless papa, dear Jesus, and cause him to see That Santa Claus loves us as much as does he; Don't let him get fretful and angry again At dear brother Willie and Annie. Amen."

"Please, Desus, 'et Santa Taus tum down to-night, And b'ing us some p'esents before it is light; I want he should div' me a nice 'ittie s'ed, With bright shinin' 'unners, and all painted red; A box full of tandy, a book, and a toy, Amen, and then Desus, I'll be a dood boy."

Their prayers being ended, they raised up their heads, And with hearts light and cheerful, again sought their beds.

They were lost soon in slumber, both peaceful and deep, And with fairies in dreamland were roaming in sleep.

Eight, nine, and the little French clock had struck ten, Ere the father had thought of his children again: He seems now to hear Annie's half-suppressed sighs, And to see the big tears stand in Willie's blue eyes.

"I was harsh with my darlings," he mentally said, "And should not have sent them so early to bed; But then I was troubled; my feelings found vent, For bank stock to-day has gone down ten per cent But of course they've forgotten their troubles ere this, And that I denied them the thrice-asked-for kiss: But, just to make sure, I'll go up to their door, For I never spoke harsh to my darlings before."

So saying, he softly ascended the stairs, And arrived at the door to hear both of their prayers; His Annie's "Bless papa" drew forth the big tears, And Willie's grave promise fell sweet on his ears.

"Strange--strange--I'd forgotten," said he with a sigh, "How I longed when a child to have Christmas draw nigh."

"I'll atone for my harshness," he inwardly said, "By answering their prayers ere I sleep in my bed."

Then he turned to the stairs and softly went down, Threw off velvet slippers and silk dressing-gown, Donned hat, coat, and boots, and was out in the street-- A millionaire facing the cold driving sleet!

Nor stopped he until he had bought every thing, From the box full of candy to the tiny gold ring; Indeed, he kept adding so much to his store, That the various presents outnumbered a score.

Then homeward he turned, when his holiday load, With Aunt Mary's help, in the nursery was stowed.

Miss Dolly was seated beneath a pine tree, By the side of a table spread out for her tea; A work-box well filled in the centre was laid And on it the ring for which Annie had prayed.

A soldier in uniform stood by a sled "With bright shining runners, and all painted red."

There were b.a.l.l.s, dogs, and horses, books pleasing to see, And birds of all colors were perched in the tree!

While Santa Claus, laughing, stood up in the top, As if getting ready more presents to drop.

And as the fond father the picture surveyed, He thought for his trouble he had amply been paid, And he said to himself, as he brushed off a tear, "I'm happier to-night than I've been for a year; I've enjoyed more true pleasure than ever before, What care I if bank stock falls ten per cent more Hereafter I'll make it a rule, I believe, To have Santa Claus visit us each Christmas Eve."

So thinking, he gently extinguished the light, And, tripping down stairs, retired for the night.

As soon as the beams of the bright morning sun Put the darkness to flight, and the stars one by one.

Four little blue eyes out of sleep opened wide, And at the same moment the presents espied; Then out of their beds they sprang with a bound, And the very gifts prayed for were all of them found.

They laughed and they cried, in their innocent glee, And shouted for papa to come quick and see What presents old Santa Claus brought in the night (Just the things that they wanted), and left before light; "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 G.o.d 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, And knew just what presents my children would please.

(Well, well, let him think so, the dear little elf, 'Twould be cruel to tell him I did it myself.)"

Blind father! who caused your stern heart to relent, And the hasty words spoken so soon to repent?

'Twas the Being who bade you steal softly up stairs, And made you His agent to answer their prayers.

THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET.

BY SAMUEL WOODWORTH.

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view!

The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood, And every loved spot which my infancy knew; The wide-spreading pond, and the mill which stood by it, The bridge and the rock where the cataract fell; The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it, And e'en the rude bucket, which hung in the well.

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well.

That moss-covered bucket I hail as a treasure; For often, at noon, when returned from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, The purest and sweetest that nature can yield.

How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing!

And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell; Then soon with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well.

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket arose from the well.

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, As poised on the curb it inclined to my lips!

Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips.

And now, far removed from the loved situation, The tear of regret will intrusively swell, As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well; The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket, which hangs in the well.

MR. WINKLE PUTS ON SKATES.