The Wind, he took to his revels once more;
On down
In town,
Like a merry-mad clown,
He leaped and hallooed with whistle and roar,
"What's that?" The glimmering thread once more!
He flew in a rage--he danced and blew;
But in vain
Was the pain
Of his bursting brain;
For still the broader the Moon-scrap grew,
The broader he swelled his big cheeks and blew.
Slowly she grew--till she filled the night,
And shone
On her throne
In the sky alone,
A matchless, wonderful, silvery light,
Radiant and lovely, the Queen of the night.
Said the Wind--"What a marvel of power am I!
With my breath,
Good faith!
I blew her to death--
First blew her away right out of the sky--
Then blew her in; what strength have I!"
But the Moon, she knew nothing about the affair,
For high
In the sky,
With her one white eye,
Motionless, miles above the air,
She had never heard the great Wind blare.
_George Macdonald._
A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS
'Twas 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,
In hopes that St.
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