Joel's Talk With Santa Claus

Santa speaks with Joel.

 

      ONE Christmas eve Joel Baker was in a most unhappy mood. He was lonesome and miserable; the chimes making merry Christmas music outside disturbed rather than soothed him, the jingle of the sleigh-bells fretted him, and the shrill whistling of the wind around the corners of the house and up and down the chimney seemed to grate harshly on his ears.

      "Humph," said Joel, wearily, "Christmas is nothin' to me; there was a time when it meant a great deal, but that was long ago-- fifty years is a long stretch to look back over. There is nothin' in Christmas now, nothin' for me at least; it is so long since Santa Claus remembered me that I venture to say he has forgotten that there ever was such a person as Joel Baker in all the world. It used to be different; Santa Claus used to think a great deal of me when I was a boy. Ah! Christmas nowadays ain't what it was in the good old time -- no, not what it used to be."

      As Joel was absorbed in his distressing thoughts he became aware very suddenly that somebody was entering or trying to enter the room. First came a draught of cold air, then a scraping, grating sound, then a strange shuffling, and then, --yes, then, all at once, Joel saw a pair of fat legs and a still fatter body dangle down the chimney, followed presently by a long white beard, above which appeared a jolly red nose and two bright twinkling eyes, while over the head and forehead was drawn a fur cap, white with snowflakes.

      "Ha, ha," chuckled the fat, jolly stranger, emerging from the chimney and standing well to one side of the hearth-stone; "ha, ha, they don't have the big, wide chimneys they used to build, but they can't keep Santa Claus out! Ha, ha, ha. Though the chimney were no bigger than a gas pipe, Santa Claus would slide down it!"

      It didn't require a second glance to assure Joel that the new-comer was indeed Santa Claus. Joel knew the good old saint -- oh, yes -- and he had seen him once before, and , although that was when Joel was a little boy, he had never forgotten how Santa Claus looked. Nor had Santa Claus forgotten Joel, although Joel thought he had; for now Santa Claus looked kindly at Joel and smiled and said: "Merry Christmas to you, Joel!"

     "Thank you, old Santa Claus," replied Joel, "but I don't believe it's going to be a very merry Christmas. It's been so long since I've had a merry Christmas that I don't believe I'd know how to act if I had one."

      "Let's see," said Santa Claus, "it must be going on fifty years since I saw you last -- yes, you were eight years old the last time I slipped down the chimney of the old homestead and filled your stocking. Do you remember it?"

      "I remember it well," answered Joel. "I had mad up my mind to lie awake and see Santa Claus; I had heard tell of you, but I'd never seen you, and Brother Otis and I concluded we'd lie awake and watch for you to come."

      Santa Claus shook his head reproachfully. "That was very wrong," said he, "for I'm so scarey that if I'd known you boys were awake I'd never have come down the chimney at all, and then you'd have had no presents."

      "But Otis couldn't keep awake," explained Joel. "We talked about everythin' we could think of, till father called out to us that if we didn't stop talking he'd have to send one of us up into the attic to sleep with the hired man. So in less than five minutes Otis was sound asleep and no pinching could wake him up. But I was bound to see Santa Claus and I don't believe anything would've put me to sleep. I heard the big clock in the sitting-room strike eleven, and I had begun wonderin' if you never were going to come, when all of a sudden I heard the tinkle of the the bells around your reindeer's necks. Then I heard the reindeers prancin' on the roof and the sound of your sleigh-runners cuttin' and through the crust and slippin' over the shingles. I was kind o' scared and I covered my head up with the sheet and quilts -- only I left a little hole so I could peek out and see what was goin' on. As soon as I saw you I got over bein' scared -- for you were jolly and smilin' like, and you chuckled as you went around to each stockin' and filled it up."

      "Yes, I can remember the night," said Santa Claus. "I brought you a sled, didn't I?"

      "Yes, and you brought Otis one, too," replied Joel. "Mine was red and had 'Yankee Doodle' painted in black letters on the side; Otis's was black and had 'Snow Queen' in gilt letters."

      "I remember those sleds distinctly," said Santa Claus, "for I made them specially for you boys."

      "You set the sleds up against the wall," continued Joel, "and then you filled the stockin's."

      "There were six of 'em, as I recollect?" said Santa Claus.

      "Let me see," quired Joel. "There was mine, and Otis's, and Elvira's and Thankful's, and Susan Prickett's -- Susan was our help, you know. No, that were only five, and, as I remember, they were the biggest we could beg or borrer of Aunt Dorcas, who weighed nigh unto two hundred pounds. Otis and I didn't like Susan Prickett, and we were hopin' you'd put a cold potato in her stockin'."

      "But Susan was a good girl," remonstrated Santa Claus. "You know I put cold potatoes only in the stockin's of boys and girls who are bad and don't believe in Santa Claus."

      "At any rate," said Joel, "you filled all the stockin's with candy and pop-corn balls before you got around. Then you left each of us a book. Elvira got the best one, which was 'The Garland of Frien'ship,' and had poems in it about the bleeding of hearts, and so forth. Father wasn't expectin' anything, but you left him a new pair of mittens, and mother got a new fur boa to wear to meetin'."

      "Of course," said Santa Claus, "I never forgot father and mother."

      "Well, it was as much as I could do to lay still," continued Joel, "for I'd been longin' for a sled, an' the sight of that red sled with 'Yankee Doodle' painted on it jest made me wild. But, somehow or other, I began to get powerful sleepy all at once, and I couldn't keep my eyes open. The next thing I knew Otis was nudgin' me in the ribs. 'Git up, Joel,' says he; 'it's Chri'mas an' Santa Claus has been here.' 'Merry Chris'mas! Merry Chris'mas!' we cried as we tumbled out o' bed. Then Elvira an' Thankful came in, not more 'n half dressed, and Susan came in, too, an' we just made Rome howl with 'Merry Chris'mas! Merry Chris'mas!' to each other. 'Ef you children don't make less noise in there,' cried father, 'I'll hev to send you all back to bed.' The idea of askin' boys an' girls to keep quiet on Chris'mas mornin' when they've got new sleds an' 'Garlands of Frien'ship'!"

      Santa Claus chuckled; his rosy cheeks fairly beamed joy.

      "Otis an' I didn't want any breakfast," said Joel. "We made up our minds that a stockin'ful of candy and pop-corn and raisins would stay us for a while. I do believe there wasn't buckwheat cakes enough in the township to keep us indoors that mornin'; buckwheat cakes don't size up much 'longside of a red sled with 'Yankee Doodle' painted onto it and a black sled named 'Snow Queen.' We didn't care how cold it was -- so much the better for slidin' downhill! All the boys had new sleds -- Lafe Dawson, Bill Holbrook, Gum Adams, Rube Playford, Leander Merrick, Ezra Purple -- all on 'em had new sleds excep' Martin Peavey, and he said he calculated Santa Claus had skipped him this year 'cause his father had broke his leg haulin' logs from the Pelham woods and had been kep' in-doors six weeks. But Martin had his ol' sled, and he didn't hev to ask any odds of any of us, neither."

      "I brought Martin a sled the next Christmas," said Santa Claus.

      "Like as not-- but did you ever slide down-hill, Santa Claus? I don't mean such hills as they hev out here in this new country, but one of them old-fashioned New England hills that was made 'specially for boys to slide down, full of bumpers an' thank-ye-marms, and about ten times longer comin' up than it is goin' down! The wind blew in our faces, jist as if it was a boy, too, an' wanted to play with us. An ol' crow came flappin' over us from the cornfield beyond the meadow. He said: 'Caw, caw,' when he saw my new sled --I s'pose he'd never seen a red one before. Otis had a hard time with his sled -- the black one -- an' he wondered why it wouldn't go as fast as mine would. 'Hev you scraped the paint off'n the runners? asked Wralsey Goodnow. 'Course I hev,' said Otis; 'broke my own knife an' Lute Ingraham's a-doin' it, but it don't seem to make no dif'rence -- the darned ol' thing won't go!' Then, what did Simon Buzzell say but that, like's not, it was because Otis's sled's name was 'Snow Queen.' 'Never did see a girl sled that was worth a cent, anyway,' sez Simon. Well, now, that jest about broke Otis up in business. 'It ain't a girl sled,' sez he, 'and its name ain't "Snow Queen"! I'm a-goin' to call it "Dan'l Webster," or "Ol'ver Optic," or "Sheriff Robbins," or after some other big man!' An' the boys plagued him so much about that pesky girl sled that he scratched off the name, an', as I remember, it did go better after that!

      "About the only thing," continued Joel, "that marred the harmony of the occasion as the editor of the Hampshire County Phoenex used to say, was the ashes that Deacon Morris Frisbie sprinkled out in front of his house. He said he wasn't going to have folks breakin' their necks jest on account of a lot of frivolous boys that was goin' to the gallows as fas' as they could! Oh, how we hated him! and we'd have snowballed him, too, if we hadn't been afraid of the constable that lived next door. But the ashes didn't bother us much, and every time we slid side-saddle we'd give the ashes a kick, and that sort of scattered 'em."

      The bare thought of this made Santa Claus laugh.

      "Goin' on about nine o'clock," said Joel, "the girls come along -- Sister Elvira an' Thankful, Prudence Tucker, Belle Yocum, Sophrone Holbrook, Sis Hubbard, an' Marthy Sawyer. Marthy's brother Increase wanted her to ride on his sled, but Marthy allowed that a red sled was her choice every time. 'I don't see how I'm goin' to hold on,' said Marthy. 'Seems as if I would hev my hands full keepin' my things from blowin' away.' 'Don't worry about yourself, Marthy,' sez I, 'for if you'll look after your things, I kind o' calc'late I'll manage not to lose you on the way.' Dear Marthy-- seems as if I could see you now, with your tangled hair a blowin' in the wind, your eyes all bright and sparklin', an' your cheeks as red as apples. Seems, too, as if I could hear you laughin' an' a-callin', jist as you did as I toiled up the old New England hill that Chris'mas mornin'-- a-callin': 'Joel, Joel, Joel-- ain't ye ever comin', Joel?' But the hill is long and steep, Marthy, an Joel ain't the boy he used to be; he's old, an' gray, an' feeble, but there's love an' faith in his heart, an' they kind o'keep him totterin' tow'rd the voice he hears a-callin': 'Joel, Joel, Joel!'"

      "I know -- I see it all," murmured Santa Claus very softly.

      "Oh, that was so long ago," sighed Joel; "so very long ago! And I've had no Chris'mas since -- only once, when our little one -- Marthy's an' mine -- you remember him, Santa Claus?"

      "Yes," said Santa Claus, "a toddling little boy with blue eyes--"

      "Like his mother," interrupted Joel; "an' he was like her, too-- so gentle an' lovin', only we called him Joel, for that was my father's name and it kind o' run in the fam'ly. He wa'n't more'n three years old when you came with your Chris'mas presents for him, Santa Claus. We had told him about you, and he used to go to the chimney every night and make a little prayer about what he wanted you to bring him. And you brought 'em, too -- a stick-horse, an' a picture-book, an' some blocks, an' a drum-- they're on the shelf in the closet there, and his little Chris'mas stockin' with 'em--I've saved 'em all, an' I 've taken 'em down an' held 'em in my hands, oh, many times!"

      "But when I came again," said Santa Claus------

      "His little bed was empty, an' I was alone. It killed his mother--Marthy was so tenderhearted; she kind o' drooped an' pined after that. So now they've been asleep side by side in the buryin'-ground these thirty years.

      "That's why I'm so sad-like whenever Chris'mas comes." said Joel, after a pause. "The thinkin' of long ago makes me bitter almost. It's so different now from what it used to be."

      "No, Joel, oh, no," said Santa Claus. "'Tis the same world, and human nature is the same and always will be. But Christmas is for the little folks, and you, who are old and grizzled now, must know it and love it only through the gladness it brings the little ones."

      "True groaned Joel; "but how may I know and feel this gladness when I have no little stocking hanging in my chimney corner -- no child to please me with his prattle? See, I am alone."

      "No, you're not alone, Joel," said Santa Claus. "There are children in this great city who would love and bless you for your goodness if you but touched their hearts. Make them happy, Joel; send by me this night some gift to the little boy in the old house yonder -- he is poor and sick; a simple toy will fill his Christmas with gladness."

      "His little sister, too-- take her some presents," said Joel; "make them happy for me, Santa Claus-- you are right -- make them happy for me."

      How sweetly Joel slept! When he awoke, the sunlight streamed in through the window and seemed to bid him a merry Christmas. How contented and happy Joel felt! It must have been the talk with Santa Claus that did it all; he had never known a sweeter sense of peace. A little girl came out of the house over the way. She had a new doll in her arms, and she sang a merry little song and she laughed with joy as she skipped along the street. Ay, and at the window sat the little sick boy, and the toy Santa Claus left him seemed to have brought him strength and health, for his eyes sparkled and his cheeks glowed, and it was plain to see his heart was full of happiness.

      And oh! how the chimes did ring out, and how joyfully they sang their Christmas carol that morning! They sang of Bethlehem and the manger and the Babe; they sang of love and charity, till all the Christmas air seemed full of angel voices.

   Carol of the Christmas morn--

   Carol of the Christ-child born--

   Carol to the list'ning sky

   Till it echoes back again

   "Glory be to God on high,

   Peace on earth, good will tow'rd men!"

      So all this music -- the carol of the chimes, the sound of children's voices, the smile of the poor little boy over the way -- all this sweet music crept into Joel's heart that Christmas morning; yes, and with these sweet, holy influences came others so subtile and divine that in its silent communion with them, Joel's heart cried out amen and amen to the glory of the Christmas time.

by Eugene Field

Lily's Grave by Madge Carrol

December 24-- It is Christmas eve! The third anniversary of Lily's death. Robert is unavoidably absent-- gone a week to be gone a week longer. I sit alone and muse on the little life that blessed and brightened my three happy Christmas tides, then dropped away, almost as though it had never been. Almost as though it had never been, yet there are countless reminders of her hidden away in the house. Hidden away, for not one of them can nestle in my arms, speak to me with her voice, or touch me with the dear, soft touch of her hands.

      I have put away everything that speaks of her except the little high-chair she used at meal-time. It is Robert's fancy to have that and her tiny cup, saucer and plate carved with lilies-of-the-valley, placed between our own at table. Robert's fancy, and he has so few I have humored it under the heart-break of seeing them empty for evermore.

      Flesh and sense gasp at the silence in the house, rebel against the mocking, empty horror in the air; still, wondering dumbly were it ever otherwise.

      Do I not dream I once bore a child? I ask this; then my soul speaks, cries out in its awful agony after that other part of me wrenched away when they laid my frozen lily under the winter snows. Yes, she was mine, she was here; no dream-child, but a warm, living presence. My very own, purchased through suffering -- my only one, knitted close to body, soul, heart, brain-- the very pulse of my being, my love, my pride, my glory, torn from me in very mockery of the claims of motherhood.

      Mrs. Fluffy calls, her arms full of Christmas toys, her eyes of Christmas lights. I hate her, I hate the sound of children's voices in the street, the boys' merry shout, the girls' tuneful laugh. It pleases Mrs. Fluffy to say, "Dear me! How quiet and cozy you are here! Our house is such a hurly-burly from beginning to end, I declare I almost lose my sense. Sam's hammering from garret to cellar. little Jem's tearing 'round like mad, and even Fanny begins to know what Christmas is, and goes wild. They'll be on the watch for me at the window, I bet; and how to get these things in without their seeing me is more than I can contrive. You don't have any of this bother; you look as comfortable as an old maid. Whatever in the world have you got three chairs at the table for? Laws! And a high one at that! Did I ever!"

      She laughs-- a thoroughly silly, care-for-naught laugh--dropping some of her parcels as she does so.

      I do not answer, nor does she notice that I so not, being completely engrossed in herself and her purchases.

      She goes, and I, kneeling beside the empty chair of my dead darling, wrestle afresh with my old, ever-new grief. She too had just begun to know what Christmas is, & died with Christmas toys about her.

      "We're not rich, you know, Abbie, and can't afford to spend much on her grave just now; but suppose we put away for a year or two what we would have spent for her had she lived, and then get one of the handsomest monuments we can find."

      So said Robert while that tiny mound lay fresh under winter snows. There is a blue-and-silver purse in the drawer up-stairs . I was knitting it for him the winter we lost her-- how often her willful, fondling baby hands were tangled in its meshes! Through its unfinished thread gleam the coins that, had she been spared us, would have bought her little frocks and shoes, her dainty embroideries, books, bonbons, dolls.

      Somehow the fancy comes to me to-night, and my lonely, gnawing anguish seizes upon it, to go out and make believe buy her a new baby.

      "Oh yes, my little girl must have a Christmas doll and a tree; I must trim a tree for my darling," I say, clutching at my outdoor wraps with feverish eagerness, and leaving my supper untasted, for Ann to clear or not, as she likes.

      The cold air stings me into something like animation. I find the streets all alive with big and little people; they seem so joyous too, every one; so different from me. Christmas boughs trail on my footpath, Christmas holly burns redly overhead, my sombre garments take on strange colors in the dancing Christmas lights. I am quick to see everything that betrays the warm father and mother heart and the presence of child-treasures in the house. The gayly-painted sleds and wheelbarrows, tiny tippet-boxes, Cinderella skates, great blonde dolls, tea-tables, wash tubs, irons, dustpans, and all the paraphernalia of mimic housekeeping that goes to make up the charm of Christmas-time.

      What hurts me the most of all amid so many cruel pangs, I think, is the knowing, or rather unknowing, looks of these happy parents planning for their children's pleasure. They appear to take it quite for granted that I have stolen out under cover of darkness on bewildering burdens. I t maddens me to recognize this thought, and then remember the little chair I left sitting empty at the table.

      A large, ruddy Irishwoman, with more dolls in her arms and hugged against her broad bosom than she can very well look to, even goes so far as to indicate a bloomy brunette with her fat chin and says to me,

      "Look, only a dollar seventy-five--up at Jones'-- git one fur yours-- I warrant she'll be tickled."

      Following this blind guide I go to Jones'. I have been there before, but they so not know me. I don't mean to give trouble, but I ask in a dreamy way the price of things, and the attendant brings them and places them before me. I look at them without really seeing, and turn to others still.

      The food-natured shuffle and bustle around me, the noise and lights, tend to make me more and more confused, for I am not used to being among people since Lily died. Then, too, the eager, joyous, expectant child faces fill me with passionate pangs. So I let them go on, piling around me all the glittering trifles for a tree; and at last the heap is crowned by a great wax doll dressed for a party in rose color and white.

      "How much is this?"

      I have heard the question repeated some half dozen times; the soft musical underflow of a child's plaintive voice among the busy roll and banter of grown-up men and women's tongues; heard it unheeded like one under the influence of a narcotic; its meaning comes straight home when the blonde beauty of a child's hair straying out from the faded hood touches my listlessly dropped hands.

      "Haven't you got anything for a penny?" she asks despondently of the attendants, who are too busy with pounds to look after pence.

      "Oh, bother your penny! Go somewhere else with it. We don't want it."

The little one turns as if I had addressed her, and looks up into my face with eyes of such piteous grieving my whole soul trembles and leans out toward her.

      "Oh, give me something for a penny-- ever such a little something; I do so want a tiny bit of Christmas."

      "Go along, I tell you; what do you come in here for, anyhow? Here, out with you!" and the attendant's hands swoop down on the small shoulders peeping bare and red through slits in the thin dress. "Jim, set this youngster outside."

      "Lily!"

      It is an older girl who speaks, even more forlorn and ragged that this little transgressor; she has squeezed herself up against the wall and remained unnoticed hitherto.

      "Hah!" blusters the proprietor of the premises, coming to the rescue, not of children, but of his rights, which he firmly believed are endangered. "There's the couple of you, is there? Come to steal, have you? Out with them Jim! Let me see you here again and I'll see you in prison."

The little storm-tossed human blossom-- bearing my angel's-- baby's name, wearing also her golden drift of hair, looking at me with eyes as blue as hers-- is lifted over my listless arms, crying out as she goes,

      "I didn't, indeed I didn't come to steal! My mother's dead, and oh, I did so want a bit of Christmas!"

      The lava torrent of mocked maternal love wells hot within me in answer to that agonizing child-cry. They hustle her out, they set her poor little half-bare feet upon winter snows; but on the instant I am there beside her. I kneel on the cold pavement, I clasp her quivering form; and in this blessed moment, when I vow to shield this motherless one, so help me God, even as I would have my own Lily shielded, something of joy that thrills through heaven over a soul saved comes down into my heart.

      In the next street I find a dead woman in a cellar.

      "She was uppish-like, and rinted our fust floor when she come here six months ago; but laws! I know'd she couldn't hold on; death had her than jist as tight as her has now. You see her man he forgeried and killed hisself in prison. Then his people, they turned her off; she had none, you know. She sewed real smart, and tried to hold together for the young uns' sake, but 'twere no use at all."

      That is the history of these little ones.

      I take the oldest to a kind woman whom I know; I make arrangements fo rhte mother's burial; then I bring the little one home. I cannot help but feel selfish, thankful thrill when Ann, after washing her, says:

      "What'll you be afther puttin' on her? She's to big fur Miss Lily's clothes, though sure an' she'd a-been this big if she'd a-lived."

      Yes, I am thankful, for what it not be wrong to withhold them if their soft folds could shape themselves to these shivering limbs? Yet could I bear to see them thus?

      I take out my little pocket-book, bronze and gold--Robert's gift. I count out the sum that one hour ago I would have assigned to the blue-and-silver purse for Lily's Christmas toys, and Ann is speeding out to a furnishing-house near by for a six-year-old child's outfit; while I, wrapping my warm woollen shawl about the small thing, find myself telling her about my heaven sheltered Lily.

      She listens to me, this motherless, homeless waif, with eyes like newly-opened morning glories, and when I am done sits with one hand holding back her golden fall of hair, while her gaze rests bright and earnest on my face.

      "Of what are you thinking, little one?" I ask.

      A pious mother's lessons make the music of her speech when she answer me:

      "I am thinking that when my mother got to heaven, your little girl must have met her and told her how sorry you was, and then my mother told her all about how sorry I was; and both together they went to Jesus and told him, and he sent me here to comfort you. Don't you think so?"

      With the fire-gleams glancing on that golden head, where all was emptiness and horror, with those infant accents breaking up the awful silence of the house, with that new, strange feeling of rest and unrest, with that delicious, brooding sense of comfort, compensation, just within my grasp, no marvel that I cry, "I do, I do," and feel adown my cheeks a rush of bitter-sweet tears.

      December 28-- I can put nothing more in the blue-and-silver purse. Indeed, with the new and unexpected expense I have assumed, I am even obliged to take something out. I do not regret it. Since I waked to the knowledge that I am not the only one who struggles and suffers-- in my blindness I lost sight of this-- that even children, babes like my lost one, are not spared the chill and the agony of bereavement, and, worst still, privations of which my sheltered life knows nothing; --since, as I say, I waked to a sense of this, there comes a feeling with it, a fear, lest the pride of marble we proposed to rear above our darling would stand betwixt some young head like this and sunshine-- would glitter coldly between some fair child-mouth and daily bread.

      New Year's Eve. Robert comes to-night, this soft, white winter night. He sees close beside our Lily's chair another, not empty, but crowned with a fair child-face, golden hair and lips like a japonica bud.

      It comes upon him a surprise. I meant it should.

      "Robert," I say, half laughing, half crying, "this is Lily's monument."

      He is even better content than I to have it so.

      "Next spring," he says,"we will make of her grave such am alter of bloom and fragrance that all the bees and birds for miles around will seek it out."

      Yes," I reply; "and while our hearts sadden over her memory, let us never fail to be thankful that no glittering shaft of marble stands between us and a starving child."

Forgetting and Remembering.

Forgetting and Remembering

Remember every kindness done

To you, whate'er its measure;

Remember praise by others won

And pass it on with pleasure;

Remember every promise made,

And keep it to the letter;

Remember those who lend you aid

And be a grateful debtor.

Remember all the happiness

That comes your way in living;

Forget each worry and distress,

Be hopeful and forgiving;

Remember good, remember truth,

Remember heaven's above you,

And you will find, through age and youth,

True joys, and hearts to love you.

Youth's Companion.

Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.

      "Many popular Christmas hymns have a most interesting history. Those who have heard the waits and carolers sing "Hark, the Herold Angels Sing!" on Christmas eve will be astonished to know that many years ago it was rendered "Hark, How All The Welkin Rings!" and was sung to the tune of "See the Conquering Hero Comes." When this former wording was adopted in the new hymn book of the "Hymns Ancient and Modern" there was a great storm of criticism from those who prefer the modern version. The hymn was written by Charles Wesley." from How We Got Our Christmas Hymns, 1913

 

Vintage sheet music of "Hark the Herald Angels Sing", CC.

       In 1721, a wealthy Irishman offered to adopt Charles Wesley and make him his legal heir. The thirteen year old boy refused the offer, choosing to continue his way through school under very trying circumstances. This turned out to be one of the most momentous decisions of his life. The boy who was adopted in place of Charles became an earl, and grandfather of the famous Duke of Wellington, while the young Wesley achieved immortal fame through his hymns. He is often called "The Prince of Hymn Writers".
       Charles Wesley and his older brother, John (founder of the Methodist Church) made a brief visit to America in 1735. The two brothers came to Georgia as secretaries to General Oglethorpe. They returned to England the following year. It is said that Charles became interested in hymns on hearing a group of German Moravians singing their hymns aboard ship.
       Wesley is said to have written over six thousand hymns and spiritual songs. His two greatest hymns are: Jesus Lover of My Soul (1740) and Hark! The Herald Angels Sing (1739). The latter, in its original form, opened with the lines "Hark how all the welkin rings. Glory to the King of Kings!" Through the course of time, various revisions have been made.
       It is a curious fact that the Mendelssohn melody, which is so admirably suited to the song, is an adaptation. In 1840, Felix Mendelssohn composed a cantata to commemorate the invention of printing. This cantata, called "Festgesang" (Festival Song), was presented at the great festival held at Leipzig. Fifteen years later (1855), Dr. W. H. Cummings, organist at Waltham Abbey, England, adapted the melody of the second chorus of Mendelssohn's cantata to Wesley's Christmas hymn. He arranged it for his choir and presented it on Christmas day. The new melody was so well received that it was published the following year and soon became the accepted version of the hymn.
       Mendelssohn was not completely satisfied with the original words to this melody in the Festgesang. He thought it ought to have other words — but not sacred words. This is verified by a very definite statement which he made in a letter to his publishers in England concerning a possible English translation. Quotations from this letter were published in 1933, by Dr. Dearmer, in his Songs of Praise.
       Had Mendelssohn lived to hear his melody sung to the sacred words of Hark! The Herald Angels Sing, we wonder if it would not have won his enthusiastic acclaim, as it has won the acclaim of millions throughout all Christendom. Kvamme.

 

Bethlehem Town

Bethlehem Town

As I was going to Bethlehem - town,

Upon the earth I cast me down

All underneath a little tree

That whispered in this wise to me :

"Oh, I shall stand on Calvary

And bear what burthen saveth thee!"

As up I fared to Bethlehem - town,

I met a shepherd coming down,

And thus he quoth: "A wondrous sight

Hath spread before mine eyes this night,--

And angel host most fair to see,

That sung full sweetly of a tree

That shall uplift on Calvary

What burthen saveth you and me!"

And as I gat to Bethlehem - town,

Lo! wise men came that bore a crown.

"Is there," cried I, "in Bethlehem

A King shall wear this diadem?"

"Good sooth," they quoth, "and it is He

That shall be lifted on the tree

And freely shed on Calvary

What blood redeemeth us and thee!"

Unto a Child in Bethlehem - town

The wise men came and brought a crown;

And while the infant smiling slept,

Upon their knees they fell and wept,

But, with her babe upon her knee,

Naught recked that Mother of the tree,

That should uplift on Calvary

What burthen saveth all and me.

Again I walk in Bethlehem - town

And think on Him that wears the crown.

I may not kiss His feet again,

Nor worship Him as did I then;

My King hath died upon the tree,

And hath outpoured on Calvary

What blood redeemeth you and me!

by Eugene Field

Silent Night.

Vintage sheet music of "Silent Night" lyrics included, CC.

      "Silent Night" (German: Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht) is a popular Christmas carol, composed in 1818 by Franz Xaver Gruber to lyrics by Joseph Mohr in the small town of Oberndorf bei Salzburg, Austria. It was declared an intangible cultural heritage by the UNESCO in March 2011. The song has been recorded by a large number of singers from every music genre.

      The song was first performed on Christmas Eve 1818 at the St Nicholas parish church in Oberndorf, a village on the Salzach river. The young priest, Father Joseph Mohr, had come to Oberndorf the year before. He had already written the lyrics of the song "Stille Nacht" in 1816 at Mariapfarr, the hometown of his father in the Salzburg Lungau region, where Joseph had worked as a coadjutor.

      The melody was composed by Franz Xaver Gruber, schoolmaster and organist in the nearby village of Arnsdorf. Before Christmas Eve, Mohr brought the words to Gruber and asked him to compose a melody and guitar accompaniment for the church service. Both performed the carol during the mass on the night of December 24.

      The original manuscript has been lost. However a manuscript was discovered in 1995 in Mohr's handwriting and dated by researchers at ca. 1820. It shows that Mohr wrote the words in 1816 when he was assigned to a pilgrim church in Mariapfarr, Austria, and shows that the music was composed by Gruber in 1818. This is the earliest manuscript that exists and the only one in Mohr's handwriting.

 

Lyrics for Silent Night
Silent night! holy night!

All is calm, all is bright.

'Round yon Virgin Mother and Child,

Holy Infant so tender and mild,

Sleep in heavenly peace.

Sleep in heavenly peace.

Silent night! holy night!

Shepherds quake at the sight!

Glories stream from heaven afar,

Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia;

Christ the Savior is born.

Christ the Savior is born.

Silent night! holy night!

Son of God, love's pure light

Radiant beams from Thy holy face,

With the dawn of redeeming grace,

Jesus, Lord at Thy birth.

Jesus, Lord at Thy birth.

More Lovely Versions of "Silent Night":

• A Hawaiian Version featuring Amy Hanaiali'i, John Cruz, Kapena, Lehua Kalima, Obrian Eselu and Afatia Thompson
• It's a Soweto Silent Night
• Vienna Boys Choir - Stille Nacht
• The Temptations - Silent Night Montage

A York Music Box.

A York Music Box

Just out of the window,

Tipped fine with a feather,

Stands a droll little box

Put compactly together.

From May till October

On the boughs it is swaying,

Making happy the heart

With the songs it is playing,

Keeping quick time and tune,

With quaver and quiver,

To the rustle of leaves

And the flow of the river.

No handicraft is finer

From Munich or Zurich,

Than this by the window

Where floats the sweet music,

When the elm branches wave,

And the blue sky discloses

The little red box,

In York's garden of roses.

With the thoughts of God in it,

Its warm breast is throbbing,--

For the droll music-box

Is a gay little robin.

by Sarah D. Clark.

Sliding down hill, finding "T" treasures and crafting candy trains...

Sliding Down Hill

by Mary E. Wilkins.

 

There is ice on the hill, hurrah, hurrah!

We can slide quite down to the pasture-bar

Where the cows at night, in the summer weather,

Would stand a-waiting and lowing together.

"Tie your tippet closer, John,"
That was what their mother said;
"All of you put mittens on --
The broom will answer for a sled!"

They had never a sled, but dragged in its room,

Just as gaylt, behind them, the worn kitchen-broom;

John, Sammy and Tom, and their sweet little sister,

With her cheecks cherry-red, where the wind had kissed her.

"You can watch, sis, that's enough,"
That was what her brothers said;
"Keep your hands warm in your muff --
Girls can't slide without a sled!

"Oh, where in the world is there aught so nice

As to slide down the pasture-hill on the ice?

Quite down to the bar, sis, see we are going,

Where the cows each night in summer stood lowing."

"If I were a boy, like you,"
This was what their sister said,
Watching as they downward flew,
"I would make a girl a sled!''

        In the picture above there are all kinds of things beginning with the letter "T." How many can you find? If you are an older person this puzzle should be easy. So, kids may find 22 things or more if Grandpa or Grandma help them out...

 Now let's make a Christmas candy train for Santa to deliver all your favorite candy treats! When it's done you can decorate the mantle, a Christmas dinner table or side board with the train. On Christmas Eve, you can eat your train if your parents approve.

 Splendor Productions shows you how to
make a lovely candy train step-by-step.

Santa and his elves ride an animated Christmas train.

The Gift That None Could See.

 
"There are silver pines on the window-pane,

A forest of them," said he;

"And a huntsman is there with a silver horn,

Which he bloweth right merrily.

"And there are a flock of silver ducks

A-flying over his head;

And a silver sea and a silver hill

In the distance away," he said.

"And all of this is on the window-pane,

My pretty mamma, true as true!"

She lovingly smiled, but she looked not up,

And faster her needle flew.

A dear little fellow the speaker was--

Silver and jewels and gold,

Lilies and roses and honey-flowers,

In a sweet little bundle rulled.

He stood by the frosty window-pane

Till he tired of the silver trees,

The huntsman blowing his silver horn,

The hills and the silver seas;

And he breathed on the flock of silver ducks,

Till he melted them quite away;

And he saw the street, and the people pass --

And the morrow was Christmas day.

"The children are out, and they laugh and shout,

I know what it's for," said he;

"And they're dragging along my pretty mamma,

A fir for a Christmas-tree."

He came and stood by his mother's side:

"To-night it is Christmas eve,

And is there a gift somewhere for me,

Gold mamma, do you believe?"

Still the needle sped in her slender hands

"My little sweetheart," said she,

"The Christ Child has planned this Christmas for you

His gift that you cannot see."

The boy looked up with a sweet, wise look

On his beautiful baby-face:

"Then my stocking I'll hang for the Christ Child's gift,

To-night, in the chimney-place."

On Christmas morning the city through,

The children were queens and kings,

With their royal treasuries bursting o'er

With wonderful, lovely things.

But the merriest child in the city full,

And the fullest of all with glee,

Was the one whom the dear Christ Child had brought

The gift that he could not see.

"Quite empty it looks, oh my gold mamma,

The stoking I hung last night!

"So then it is full of the Christ's Child's gift."

And she smiled till his face grew bright.

"Now sweetheart," she said, with a patient look

On her delicate, weary face,

"I must go and carry my sewing home,

And leave thee a little space.

"Now stay with thy sweet thoughts, heart's delight,

And I soon will be back to thee."

"I'll pay, while you're gone, my pretty mamma,

With my gift that I cannot see."

He watched his mother pass down the street;

Then he looked at the window-pane

Where a garden of new frost-flowers had bloomed

While he on his bed had lain.

Then he tenderly took up his empty sock,

And quietly sat a while,

Holding it fast, and eyeing it

With his innocent, trusting smile.

"I am tired of waiting," he said at last;

"I think I will go and meet

My pretty mamma, and come with her

A little way down the street.

"And I'll carry with me, to keep it safe,

My gift that I cannot see."

And down the street, 'mid the chattering crowd,

He trotted right merrily.

"And where are you going, you dear little man?"

They called to him as he passed;

"That empty stocking why do you hold

In your little hand so fast?"

Then he looked at them with his honest eyes,

And answered sturdily:

"My stoking is full to the top, kind sirs,

Of the gift that I cannot see."

They would stare and laugh, but he trudged along,

With his stocking fast in his hand:

"And I wonder why 'tis that the people all

Seem not to understand!"

"Oh my heart's little flower!" she cried to him,

A-hurring down the street;

"And why are you out on the street alone?

And where are you going, my sweet?"

"I was coming to meet you, my pretty mamma,

With my gift that I cannot see;

But tell me why that the people laugh

And stare at my gift and me?"

Like the Maid at her Son, in the Altar-piece,

So loving she looked and mild:

"Because, dear heart, of all that you met,

Not one was a little child."

O thou who art grieving at Christmas-tide,

The lesson is meant for thee:

That thou mayst get Christ's loveliest gifts

In ways thou canst not see;

And how, although no earthly good

Seems into thy lot to fall,

Hast thou a trusting child-like heart,

Thou hast the best of all.

by Mary E. Wilkins

Our Joyful'st Feast

Our Joyful'st Feast

" Now all our neighbour's chimneys smoke,

And Christmas blocks are burning;

The ovens they with baked meats choke,

And all their spits are turning.

Without the door let sorrow lie,

And if for cold it hap to die,

We'll bury 't in a Christmas pie,

And everymore be merry." by George Wither

"Our happiness depends on the habit of mind we cultivate. So practice happy thinking every day. Cultivate the merry heart, develop the happiness habit, and life will become a continual feast." by Norman Vincent Peale

"Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow." by Melody Beattie

Watch how to make a festive center piece for your 
Christmas table, plus mince meat pies.

The Homespun Year Blog

Mark The Soft-Falling Snow

Mark The Soft-Falling Snow

Mark the soft-falling snow,

And the diffusive rain:

To heaven from whence it fell,

It turns not back again,

But waters earth

Through every pore,

And calls forth all

Its secret store.

Arrayed in beauteous green

The hills and valleys shine,

And man and beast is fed

By Providence divine;

The harvest bows

Its golden ears,

The copious seed

Of future years.

"So," saith the God of grace,

"My gospel shall descend--

Almighty to effect

The purpose I intend;

Millions of souls

Shall feel its power,

And bear it down

To millions more.

"Joy shall begin your march,

And peace protect your ways,

While all the mountains round

Echo melodious praise;

The vocal groves

Shall sing the God,

And every tree

Consenting nod."

by Philip Doddridge.

God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen

God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen

 

God rest you merry , gentlemen,
Let nothing you dismay,
For Jesus Christ, our Saviour,
Was born upon this day,
To save us all from Satan's power
When we were gone astray.

Oh tidings of comfort and joy!
For Jesus Christ, our Saviour,
Was born on Christmas Day.

In Bethlehem, in Jewry,
This blessed Babe was born
And laid within a manger,
Upon this blessed morn;
The which His mother, Mary,
Nothing did take in scorn.

From God our Heavenly Father,
A blessed Angel came,
And unto certain shepherds
Brought tidings of the same ;
How that in Bethlehem was born
The Son of God by name.

"Fear not," then said the Angel,
"Let nothing you affright.
This day is born a Saviour,
Of virtue, power and might,
So frequently to vanquish all
The friends of Satan quite."

The shepherds, at those tidings,
Rejoiced much in mind,
And left their flocks a-feeding
In tempest, storm, and wind;
And went to Bethlehem straightway
This blessed Babe to find.

But when to Bethlehem they came,
Whereat this Infant lay,
They found Him in a manger,
Where oen feed on hay;
His mother Mary kneeling,
Unto the Lord did pray.

Now to the Lord sing praises,
All you within this place,
And with true love and brotherhood
Each other now embrace;
This holy tide of Christmas
All others doth deface.

CHRYSTMASSE OF OLDE

 CHRYSTMASSE OF OLDE

God rest you, Chrysten gentil men,

Wherever you may be, --

God rst you all in fielde or hall,

Or on ye stormy sea;

For on this morn oure Chryst is born

That saveth you and me.

Last night ye shepherds in ye east

Saw many a wondrous thing;

Ye sky last night flamed passing bright

Whiles that ye stars did sing,

And angels came to bless ye name

Of Jesus Chryst, oure Kyng.

God rest you, Chrysten gentil men,

Faring where'er you may;

In noblesse court do thou no sport,

In tournament no playe,

In paynim lands hold thou thy hands

From bloudy works this daye.

But thinking on ye gentil Lord

That died upon ye tree,

Let troublings cease and deeds of peace

Abound in Chrystantie;

For on this morn ye Chryst is born

That saveth you and me.

by Eugene Field

Christmas Morning

Christmas Morning

The angel host that sped last night,

Bearing the wondrous news afar,

Came in their ever-glorious flight

Unto a slumbering little star.

"Awake and sing, O star!" they cried.

"Awake and glorify the morn!

Herald the tidings far and wide --

He that shall lead His flock is born!"

The little star awoke and sung

As only stars in rapture may,

And presently where church bell hung

The joyous tidings found their way.

"Awake, O bells! 't is Christmas morn --

Awake and let thy music tell

To all mankind that now is born

What Shepherd loves His lambkins well!"

Then rang the bells as fled the night

O'er dreaming land and drowsing deep,

And coming with the morning light,

They called, my child, to you asleep.

Sweetly and tenderly they spoke,

And lingering round your little bed,

Their music pleaded till you woke,

And this is what their music said :

"Awake and sing! 't is Christmas morn,

Whereon all earth salutes her King!

In Bethlehem is the Shepherd born.

Awake, O little lamb, and sing!"

So, dear my child, kneel at my feet,

And with those voices from above

Share thou this holy time with me,

The universal hymn of love.

by Eugene Field

Christmas Hymn.

Christmas Hymn

Sing, Christmas bells!

Say to the earth this is the morn

Whereon our Savior-King is born ;

Sing to all men,--the bond, the free,

The rich, the poor, the high, the low,

The little child that sports in glee,

The aged folk that tottering go,--

Proclaim the morn

That Christ is born,

That saveth them and saveth me!

Sing angel host!

Sing of the star that God has placed

Above the manger in the East ;

Sing of the glories of the night,

The virgin's sweet humility,

The Babe with kingly robes bedlight,--

Sing to all men where'er they be

This Christmas morn;

For Christ is born,

That saveth them and saveth me!

Sing, sons of earth!

O ransomed seed of Adam, sing!

God liveth, and we have a king!

The curse is gone, the bond are free --

By Bethlehem's star that brightly beamed,

By all the heavenly signs that be,

We know that Israel is redeemed ;

That on this morn

The Christ is born

That saveth you and saveth me!

Sing, O my heart!

Sing thou in rapture this dear morn

Whereon the blessed Prince is born!

And as thy songs shall be of love,

So let my deeds be charity, --

By the dear Lord that reigns above,

By Him that died upon the tree,

By this fair morn

Whereon is born

The Christ that saveth all and me!

by Eugene Field

Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve
Oh, hush thee, little Dear - my - Soul,

The evening shades are falling, --

Hush thee, my dear, dost thou not hear

The voice of the Master calling?

Deep lies the snow upon the earth,

But all the sky is ringing

With joyous song, and all night long

The stars shall dance, with singing.

Oh, hush thee, little Dear - my - Soul,

And close thine eyes in dreaming,

And angels fair shall lead thee where

The singing stars are beaming.

A shepherd calls his little lambs,

And he longeth to caress them ;

He bids them rest upon his breast,

That his tender love may bless them.

So, hush thee, little Dear - my - Soul,

Whilst evening shades are falling,

And above the song of the heavenly throng

Thou shalt hear the Master calling.
by Eugene Field

As Joseph Was A-Waukin'

As Joeseph Was A-Waukin'

As Joseph was a-waukin',

He heard an angel sing,

"This night shall be the birthnight

Of Christ our heavenly King.

"His birth-bed shall be neither

In housen not in hall,

Nor in the place of paradise,

But in the oxen's stall.

"He neither shall be rocked

In silver nor in gold,

But in the wooden manger

That lieth in the mould.

"He neither shall be washen

With white wine nor with red,

But with the fair spring water

That on you shall be shed.

"He neither shall be clothed

In purple nor in pall,

But in the fair white linen

That usen babies all."

As Joseph was a-waukin',

Thus did the angel sing,

And Mary's Son at midnight

Was born to be our King.

Then be you glad, good people,

At this time of the year;

And light you up your candles,

For His star is shineth clear.

author unknown, Old Anglo-Saxon origins

An Ancient Carol

An Ancient Carol

author unknown, age of carol approx. 500 years

He came all so still

Where His mother was,

As dew in April

That falleth on the grass

He came all so still

Where His mother lay,

As dew in April

That falleth on the spray.

He came all so still

To His mother's bower,

As dew in April

That falleth on the flower

Mother and maiden

Was never none but she!

Well might such a lady

God's mother be.

The Three Kings of Cologne

Kings on camels, seeking the infant king.

The Three Kings of Cologne
From out Cologne there came three kings

To worship Jesus Christ, their King,

To Him they sought fine herbs they brought,

And many a beauteous golden thing;

Thy brought their gifts to Bethlehem town,

And in that manger set them down.

Then spake the first king, and he said :

"O Child, most heavenly, bright, and fair!

I bring this crown to Bethlehem town

For Thee, and only Thee, to wear;

So give a heavenly crown to me

When I shall come at last to Thee!"

The second, then. "I bring Thee here

This royal robe, O Child!" he cried;

"Of silk 'tis spun, and such an one

There is not in the world beside;

So in the day of doom requite

Me with a heavenly robe of white!"

The third king gave his gift, and quoth :

"Spikenard and myrrh to Thee I bring,

And with these twain would I most fain

Anoint the body of my King;

So may their incense sometime rise

To plead for me in yonder skies!"

Thus spake the three kings of Cologne,

That gave their gifts, and went their way;

And now kneel I in prayer hard by

The cradle of the Child to-day;

Nor crown, nor robe, nor spice I bring

As offering unto Christ, my King.

Yet have I brought a gift the Child

May not despise, however small;

For here I lay my heart to-day,

And it is full of love to all.

Take Thou the poor but loyal thing,

My only tribute, Christ, my King!
by Eugene Field 

The Bells of Christmas

 The Bells of Christmas

Why do the bells of Christmas ring?

Why do little children sing?

Once a lovely shining star,

Seen by shepherds from afar,

Gently moved until its light

Made a manger's cradle bright.

There a darling baby lay,

Pillowed soft upon the hay ;

And its mother sung and smiled :

"This is Christ, the holy Child!"

Therefore bells for Christmas ring,

Therefore little children sing.

by Eugene Field

The Three Kings

 The Three Kings

Three Kings come riding from far away,

Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar;

Three Wise Men out of the East were they,

And they travelled by night and they slept

by day,

For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful

star.

The star was so beautiful, large and clear,

That all the other stars of the sky

Became a white mist in the atmosphere;

And by this they knew that the coming was

near

Of the Prince fortold in the prophecy.

Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows,

Three caskets of gold with golden keys;

Their robes were of crimson silk, with rows

Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows,

Their turbans like blossoming almond-

trees.

And so the Three Kings rode into the West,

Through the dusk of night, over hill and dell,

And sometimes they nodded with beard on

breast,

And sometimes talked, as they paused to

rest,

With the people they met at some wayside

well.

"Of the child that is born," said Baltasar,

"Good people, I pray you, tell us

the news,

For we in the East have seen his star,

And have ridden fast, and have ridden far,

To find and worship the King of the Jews."

And the people answered, "You ask in vain;

We know of no king but Herod the Great!"

They thought the Wise Men were men

insane,

As they spurred their horses across the plain

Like riders in haste, and who cannot wait.

And when they came to Jerusalem,

Herod the Great, who had heard this

thing,

Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them;

And said, "Go down unto Bethlehem,

And bring me tidings of this new king."

So they rode away, and the star stood still,

The only one in the gray of morn;

Yes, it stopped,--it stood still of it's own

free will,

Right over Bethlehem on the hill,

The city of David, where Christ was born.

And the Three Kings rode through the gate

and the guard,

Through the silent street, till their horses

turned

And neighed as they entered the great

inn-yard;

But the windows were closed, and the doors

were barred,

And only a light in the stable burned.

And cradled there in the scented hay,

In the air made sweet by the breath of kine,

The little child in the manger lay,

The Child that would be King one day

Of a kingdom not human, but divine.

His mother, Mary of Nazareth,

Sat watching beside his place of rest,

Watching the even flow of his breath,

For the joy of life and the terror of death

Were mingled together in her breast.

They laid their offerings at his feet:

The gold was their tribute to a King;

The frankincense, with its odor sweet,

Was for the Priest, the Paraclete;

The myrrh for the body's buring.

And the mother wondered and bowed her

head,

And sat as still as a statue of stone;

Her heart was troubled yet comforted,

Remembering what the Angel had said

Of an enless reign and of David's throne.

Then the Kings rode out of the city gate,

With a clatter of hoofs in proud array;

But they went not back to Herod the Great,

For they knew his malice and feared his hate,

And returned to their homes by another

way.

Henery Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)