Autumn Leaves Original Pieces in Prose and Verse
CHRISTMAS REVIVED. It was six o'clock in the morning of last Thursday (Christmas morning), when Nathan Stoddard, a young saddler, strode through the vacant streets of one of our New England towns, hastening to begin his work. The town is an old-fashioned one, and although the observance of the ancient church festival is no longer frowned upon, as in years past, yet it has been little regarded, especially in the church of which Nathan is a member. As the saddler mounted the steps of his shop, he felt the blood so rush along his limbs, and tingle in his fingers, that he could not forbear standing without the door for a moment, as if to enjoy the triumph of the warmth within him over the cold morning air. The little stone church which Nathan attends stands in the same square with his shop, and nearly opposite. It was closed, as usual on Christmas day, and a recent snow had heaped the steps and roof, and loaded the windows. Nathan thought that it looked uncommonly beautiful in the softening twilight of the morning. While Nathan stood musing, with his eyes fixed upon the church, he became suddenly conscious that another figure had entered the square
"I can be ready to enter in September," replied Grant.
"That is good. All you will have to do will be to present yourself
for examination. I shall see you through, as I have promised."
"You are very kind, Uncle Godfrey," said Grant; and then he
hesitated.
"It's Thornton family pride, Grant. I want my nephew to be somebody.
I want you to be a professional man, and take a prominent place in
the world."
"Can't I be somebody without becoming a professional man, or---"
"Or, what?" asked his uncle, abruptly.
"Getting a college education?" continued Grant.
"What does this mean?" asked the old lawyer, knitting his brow.
"You're not getting off the notion of going to college, I hope?"
"I should like to go to college, uncle."
"I'm glad to hear that," said Godfrey Thornton, relieved. "I thought
you might want to grow up a dunce, and become a bricklayer or
something of that kind."
CHRISTMAS REVIVED. It was six o'clock in the morning of last Thursday (Christmas morning), when Nathan Stoddard, a young saddler, strode through the vacant streets of one of our New England towns, hastening to begin his work. The town is an old-fashioned one, and although the observance of the ancient church festival is no longer frowned upon, as in years past, yet it has been little regarded, especially in the church of which Nathan is a member. As the saddler mounted the steps of his shop, he felt the blood so rush along his limbs, and tingle in his fingers, that he could not forbear standing without the door for a moment, as if to enjoy the triumph of the warmth within him over the cold morning air. The little stone church which Nathan attends stands in the same square with his shop, and nearly opposite. It was closed, as usual on Christmas day, and a recent snow had heaped the steps and roof, and loaded the windows. Nathan thought that it looked uncommonly beautiful in the softening twilight of the morning. While Nathan stood musing, with his eyes fixed upon the church, he became suddenly conscious that another figure had entered the square