- Sore pinched by wintry winds,
How many sink into the sordid hut
{"character_count": 2757, "word_count": 487, "ccnet_language_score": [0.9549000263214111], "ccnet_perplexity": [2248.60009765625], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}



king of the Christmas season, let the pleading
voice of the bereaved and poor, be heard by the
gay and rejoicing sons and daughters of prosper
lily. How the wind howls at the window, as if
angry at my careless comfort, at my thoughtless-
ness of the shivering, starving poor! Or does
it call me with it's hoarse clustering impatience
to look out upon the driving storm, that may be
reminded of my hard heartedness to the wretch
ed inmates of the novels, into which the angry
tempest spirit is rushing with his keen, keen,
cold. ALI


How many eat the bitter, bitter bread
OF misery!
| The poor widow sits close to her hungry chill
dren who are lowering, about those few embers
on the hearth of that open room, while her hands,
stiff with the cold, urge the vain effort to procure
with her needle the necessares of life for herself,
and her orphans. That rude, rude blast that
makes her whole frame shudder, reminds her of
the awful visitation that swept away herhusband,
her property, and her earthly comfort. Poor
lone, widowed one! My heart beeds for thee
Nav, hard hearted as ANIL cannot endure even
to remind myself Of what thou now art. Pale,
shivering one, what is they crime, that thou art
thus deserted by those that called thee friend, and
enjoyed thy hospitality Why has society shut
against thee the fountain Of its sympathies, and
denied thee by secret, silent and heartless COM
pact, half the compensation for thy unremitted
TOLL that is eagerly offered for the ftfnl services
of the rougher and less dependent sex? What
fatal stain Of guilt cuts off thy friendless children
from their former supply of apparel and little
gifts suited to this, the chds own season Of the
wear! Why must thou be doomed to hear the
sweet lips of thy prattlers shout eagerly "Christ-
mas giftn' and thou have nothing 10 bestow but
bitter briny tear! Here are my children with
their new clothes and cheerful, laughing, expect
inc countenances-and here are the several little
presents suited to their respective ages; and when
the eve Of Christmas comes, they will scarce tar
ry in their nightly rest for the eagerncss of their
spirits in anticipation of the blessed, joyous NOR
ming. But thy poor orphans must be content with
their long.worn and scanty vestments, and instead
Of presents and rejoicings, must hear thee say
q All my children, this is not like the Christmas
we used to have when your poor father was ave!'
Thou lone, lone, sufferer, thou shalt have part
| of my little morsel and thou shalt have part Of
| my fcrvent prayer. God shield thee, widow,


with thy helpless orphans, God shield thee! o
that Christians would remember the character Of


Him, whose advent into our world they celebrate;
that they would remember that he ioued the
poor. w.