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
upon his legs, and rather at a loss what to say till Mrs. Pecq's
appearance suggested an idea, and he seized upon it.
"My honored friend has spoken so well that I have little to add. I
agree with him, and if you want an example of what girls _can_ do,
why, look at Jill. She's young, I know, but a first-rate scholar for
her age. As for pluck, she is as brave as a boy, and almost as smart
at running, rowing, and so on. Of course, she can't play ball--no
girl can; their arms are not made right to throw--but she can catch
remarkably well. I'll say that for her. Now, if she and Mabel--and--
and--some others I could name, are so clever and strong at the
beginning, I don't see why they shouldn't keep up and go along
with us all through. I'm willing, and will do what I can to help
other fellows' sisters as I'd like to have them help mine. And I'll
punch their heads if they don't;" and Gus subsided, assured, by a
burst of applause, that his manly way of stating the case met with
general approval.
"We shall be happy to hear from our senior member if he will
honor us with a few remarks," said Frank, with a bow to Ralph.
No one ever knew whom he would choose to personate, for he
never spoke in his own character. Now he rose slowly, put one
hand in his bosom, and fixing his eye sternly on Grif, who was
doing something suspicious with a pin, gave them a touch of
Sergeant Buzfuz, from the Pickwick trial, thinking that the debate
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