I Was A Blacksmith's Boy But Yesterday;

"oh!" Said My Aunt, "i Was Not Aware At First To Whom I Had The Pleasure Of Objecting."

As I Never Saw My Father Or My Mother, And Never Saw Any Likeness Of Either Of Them (for Their Days Were Long Before The Days Of Photographs), My First Fancies Regarding What They Were Like, Were Unreasonably Derived From Their Tombstones. The Shape Of The Letters On My Father's, Gave Me An Odd Idea That He Was A Square, Stout, Dark Man, With Curly Black Hair. From The Character And Turn Of The Inscription, "also Georgiana Wife Of The Above", I Drew A Childish Conclusion That My Mother Was Freckled And Sickly.

It Was A Long And Gloomy Night That Gathered On Me, Haunted By The Ghosts Of Many Hopes, Of Many Dear Remembrances, Many Errors, Many Unavailing Sorrows And Regrets.

Christmas May Not Bring A Single Thing; Still, It Gives Me A Song To Sing.

He Knew Enough Of The World To Know That There Is Nothing In It Better Than The Faithful Service Of The Heart.