rub'ber ... gun ... par'lor ... street ... num'ber ... ten ... o'clock ... shoot
Willie's Letter.
New York, Dec. 10, 1878.
Dear Santa Claus:
Papa is going to give me
a Christmas tree, and he says that
you will put nice things on it if I ask you.
I would like a gun that will shoot,
and a rubber ball that I can throw hard,
and that will not break Mamma's windows
or the big glass in the parlor.
Now, please don't forget to come.
I live on Fourth St., number ten.
I will go to bed at eight o'clock,
and shut my eyes tight.
I will not look indeed I won't.
Your little boy
Willie.
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