THE NAME OF OLD GLORY

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

"Old Glory! say, who,

By the ships and the crew,

I

And the long, blended ranks of the gray and the blue,Who gave you, Old Glory, the name that you bear With such pride everywhere

As you cast yourself free to the rapturous air

And leap out full-length, as we're wanting you to?
Who gave you that name with the ring of the same,
And the honor and fame so becoming to you?
Your stripes stroked in ripples of white and of red,
With your stars at their glittering best overhead-
By day or by night

Their delightfullest light

Laughing down from their little square heaven of blue!
Who gave you the name of Old Glory? Say, who-
Who gave you the name of Old Glory ?"
The old banner lifted, and faltering then,
In vague lisps and whispers fell silent again.

II

"Old Glory, speak out!- we are asking about
How you happened to 'favor' a name, so to say,
That sounds so familiar and careless and gay
As we cheer it and shout in our wild, breezy way
We the crowd, every man of us calling you that
We-Tom, Dick and Harry-each swinging his hat
And hurrahing 'Old Glory!' like you were our kin,
When Lord! we all know we're as common as sin!

And yet it just seems like you humor us all,

And waft us our thanks, as we hail you and fall
Into line, with you over us, waving us on
Where our glorified, sanctified betters have gone.
And this is the reason we're wanting to know-
(And we're wanting it so!-

Where our own fathers went we are willing to go.)
Who gave you the name of Old Glory- O-ho!-
Who gave you the name of Old Glory?"

The old flag unfurled with a billowy thrill

For an instant, then wistfully sighed and was still.

III

"Old Glory, the story we're wanting to hear

Is what the plain facts of your christening were,-
For your name - just to hear it,

Repeat it, and cheer it, 's a tang to the spirit

As salt as a tear;

And seeing you fly, and the boys marching by,
There's a shout in the throat and a blur in the eye
And an aching to live for you always-or die,

If, dying, we still keep you waving on high.
And so, by our love

For you, floating above,

And the scars of all wars and the sorrows thereof,
Who gave you the name of Old Glory and why

Are we thrilled at the name of Old Glory?"
Then the old banner leaped like a sail in the blast,
And fluttered an audible answer at last.

IV

And it spake, with a shake of the voice, and it said:
"By the driven snow-white and the living blood-red
Of my bars, and their heaven of stars overhead
By the symbol conjoined of them all, skyward cast,
As I float from the steeple or flap at the mast,
Or droop o'er the sod where the long grasses nod,-
My name is as old as the glory of God.

So I came by the name of Old Glory."

R-5th-8

THE CRATCHITS' CHRISTMAS DINNER

CHARLES DICKENS

Perhaps it was the pleasure the good Spirit had in showing off his power, or else it was his own kind, generous, hearty nature, and his sympathy with all poor men, that led him straight to Scrooge's clerk's; for there he went, and took Scrooge with him; and on the threshold of the door the Spirit smiled, and stopped to bless Bob Cratchit's dwelling. Think of that!

Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, dressed out but poorly in a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons; and she laid the cloth, assisted by Belinda Cratchit, second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons; while Master Peter Cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes, and getting the corners of his monstrous shirt-collar (Bob's private property, conferred upon his son and heir in honor of the day) into his mouth, rejoiced to find himself so gallantly attired, and yearned to show his linen in the fashionable parks.

And now two smaller Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside the baker's they had smelt the goose, and knew it for their own; and, basking

in luxurious thoughts of sage and onion, these young Cratchits danced about the table, and exalted Master Peter Cratchit to the skies, while he (not proud, although his collars nearly choked him) blew the fire, until the slow potatoes, bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan-lid, to be let out and peeled.

"What has ever got your precious father, then?" said Mrs. Cratchit. "And your brother, Tiny Tim? And Martha wasn't late last Christmas Day by half an hour!" "Here's Martha, mother," said a girl, appearing as she spoke.

"Here's Martha, mother!" cried the two young Cratchits. "Hurrah! There's such a goose, Martha!"

"Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!" said Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl and bonnet for her with officious zeal.

"We had a deal of work to finish up last night," replied the girl, "and had to clear away this morning, mother!"

"Well, never mind so long as you are come," said Mrs. Cratchit. "Sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and be warm, Lord bless ye!"

"No, no! There's father coming," cried the two young Cratchits, who were were everywhere at once. "Hide,

Martha, hide!"