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| 'Twas the night before Christmas ,when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that ST.NICHOLAS soon would be there; |
| The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced through their heads; And Mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap, - |
| When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter; Away to the windowI flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. |
| The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the lustre of midday to objects below; When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, |
| With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: |
| "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now, dash way! dash away! dash away all!" |
| As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With a sleigh full of toys - and St.Nicholas too! |
| And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof, The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St.Nicholas came with a bound. |
| He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot! A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a pedlar just opening his pack; |
| His eyes - how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow. |
| The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.He had a broad face, and a little round belly,That shook, when he laugh'd, like a bowlful of jelly. |
| He was chubby and plump; a right jolly old elf; And I laughed, when I saw him, in spite of myself. A wink of his eye,and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. |
| He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings - then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. |
| He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew, like the down off a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas to all! and to all a good night!" |
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Every Who
Down in Who-ville
Liked Christmas a lot... But the Grinch, Who lived just North of Who-ville, Did NOT! The Grinch hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season! Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason. It could be that his head wasn't screwed on quite right. It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight. But I think that the most likely reason of all May have been that his heart was two sizes too small. |
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But, Whatever the reason, His heart or his shoes, He stood there on Christmas Eve, hating the Whos, Staring down from his cave with a sour, Grinchy frown At the warm lighted windows below in their town. For he knew every Who down in Who-ville beneath Was busy now, hanging a mistleoe wreath. "And they're hanging their stockings!" he snarled with a sneer. "Tomorrow is Christmas! It's practically here!" Then he growled, with his grinch fingers nervously drumming, "I MUST find a way to keep Christmas from coming!" For, tomorrow, he knew... ...All the Who girls and boys Would wake up bright and early. They'd rush for their toys! And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the noise! Noise! Noise! Noise! That's one thing he hated! The NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! |
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Then the Whos, young and old, would sit down to a feast. And they'd feast! And they'd feast! And they'd FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! They would start on Who-pudding, and rare Who-roast-beast Which was something the Grinch couldn't stand in the least! And THEN They'd do something he liked least of all! Every Who down in Who-ville, the tall and the small, Would stand close together, with Christmas bells ringing. They'd stand hand-in-hand. And the Whos would start singing! They'd sing! And they'd sing! AND they'd SING! SING! SING! SING! And the more the Grinch thought of the Who-Christmas-Sing The more the Grinch thought, "I must stop this whole thing! "Why for fifty-three years I've put up with it now! I MUST stop Christmas from coming! ...But HOW?" |
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Then he got an idea! An awful idea! THE GRINCH GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA! "I know just what to do!" The Grinch Laughed in his throat. And he made a quick Santy Claus hat and a coat. And he chuckled, and clucked, "What a great Grinchy trick! "With this coat and this hat, I'll look just like Saint Nick!" "All I need is a reindeer..." The Grinch looked around. But since reindeer are scarce, there was none to be found. Did that stop the old Grinch...? No! The Grinch simply said, "If I can't find a reindeer, I'll make one instead!" So he called his dog Max. Then he took some red thread And he tied a big horn on top of his head. |
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THEN He loaded some bags And some old empty sacks On a ramshakle sleigh And he hitched up old Max. Then the Grinch said, "Giddyap!" And the sleigh started down Toward the homes where the Whos Lay a-snooze in their town. All their windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air. All the Whos were all dreaming sweet dreams without care When he came to the first house in the square. "This is stop number one," The old Grinchy Claus hissed And he climbed to the roof, empty bags in his fist. |
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Then he slid down the chimney. A rather tight pinch.
But if Santa could do it, then so could the Grinch.
He got stuck only once, for a moment or two.
Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue
Where the little Who stockings all hung in a row.
"These stockings," he grinned, "are the first things to go!"
Then he slithered and slunk, with a smile most unpleasant, Around the whole room, and he took every present! Pop guns! And bicycles! Roller skates! Drums! Checkerboards! Tricycles! Popcorn! And plums! And he stuffed them in bags. Then the Grinch, very nimbly, Stuffed all the bags, one by one, up the chimney! Then he slunk to the icebox. He took the Whos' feast! He took the Who-pudding! He took the roast beast! He cleaned out that icebox as quick as a flash. Why, that Grinch even took their last can of Who-hash! |
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Then he stuffed all the food up the chimney with glee.
"And NOW!" grinned the Grinch, "I will stuff up the tree!"
And the Grinch grabbed the tree, and he started to shove When he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove. He turned around fast, and he saw a small Who! Little Cindy-Lou Who, who was not more than two. The Grinch had been caught by this little Who daughter Who'd got out of bed for a cup of cold water. She stared at the Grinch and said, "Santy Claus, why, "Why are you taking our Christmas tree? WHY?" But, you know, that old Grinch was so smart and so slick He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick! "Why, my sweet little tot," the fake Santy Claus lied, "There's a light on this tree that won't light on one side. "So I'm taking it home to my workshop, my dear."I'll fix it up there. Then I'll bring it back here." |
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And his fib fooled the child. Then he patted her head
And he got her a drink and he sent he to bed.
And when Cindy-Lou Who went to bed with her cup,
HE went to the chimney and stuffed the tree up!
Then the last thing he took Was the log for their fire. Then he went up the chimney himself, the old liar. On their walls he left nothing but hooks, and some wire. And the one speck of food The he left in the house Was a crumb that was even too small for a mouse. |
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Then He did the same thing To the other Whos' houses Leaving crumbs Much too small For the other Whos' mouses! It was quarter past dawn... All the Whos, still a-bed All the Whos, still a-snooze When he packed up his sled, Packed it up with their presents! The ribbons! The wrappings! The tags! And the tinsel! The trimmings! The trappings! Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mount Crumpit, He rode to the tiptop to dump it! "Pooh-pooh to the Whos!" he was grinch-ish-ly humming. "They're finding out now that no Christmas is coming! "They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do! "Their mouths will hang open a minute or two "The all the Whos down in Who-ville will all cry BOO-HOO!" |
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"That's a noise," grinned the Grinch, "That I simply must hear!" So he paused. And the Grinch put a hand to his ear. And he did hear a sound rising over the snow. It started in low. Then it started to grow... But the sound wasn't sad! Why, this sound sounded merry! It couldn't be so! But it WAS merry! VERY! He stared down at Who-ville! The Grinch popped his eyes! Then he shook! What he saw was a shocking surprise! Every Who down in Who-ville, the tall and the small, Was singing! Without any presents at all! He HADN'T stopped Christmas from coming! IT CAME! Somehow or other, it came just the same! |
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And the Grinch, with his grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow, Stood puzzling and puzzling: "How could it be so? It came without ribbons! It came without tags! "It came without packages, boxes or bags!" And he puzzled three hours, `till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before! "Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store. "Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more!" And what happened then...? Well...in Who-ville they say That the Grinch's small heart Grew three sizes that day! And the minute his heart didn't feel quite so tight, He whizzed with his load through the bright morning light And he brought back the toys! And the food for the feast! And he... ...HE HIMSELF...! The Grinch carved the roast beast! |
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Once upon a time there was a poor shoemaker. He made excellent shoes and worked quite diligently, but even so he could not earn enough to support himself and his family. He became so poor that he he could not even afford to buy the leather he needed to make shoes; finally he had only enough to make one last pair. He cut them out with great care and put the pieces on his workbench, so that he could sew them together the following morning.qfof
"Now I wonder," he sighed, "will I ever make another pair of shoes? Once I've sold this pair, I shall need all the money to buy food for my family. I will not be able to buy any new leather. That night, the shoemaker went to bed a sad and distraught man. The next morning, he awoke early and went down to his workshop. On his bench he found an exquisite pair of shoes! They had small and even stitches, formed so perfectly that he knew he couldn't have produced a better pair himself. Upon close examination, the shoes proved to be from the very pieces of leather he had set out the night before. He immediately put the fine pair of shoes in the window of his shop and drew back the blinds. "Who in the world could've done this great service for me?" he asked himself. Even before he could make up an answer, a rich man strode into his shop and bought the shoes-- and for a fancy price. The shoemaker was ecstatic; he immediately went out and purchased plenty of food for his family--and some more leather. That afternoon he cut out two pairs of shoes and, just as before, laid all the pieces on the bench so that he could sew them the next day. Then he went upstairs to enjoy the good meal with his family. "My goodness!" he cried the next morning when he found two pairs of beautifully finished shoes on his workbench. "Who could make such fine shoes--and so quickly?" He put them in his shop window, and before long some wealthy people came in and paid a great deal of money for them. The happy shoemaker went right out and bought even more leather. For weeks, and then months, this continued. Whether the shoemaker cut two pairs or four pairs, the fine new shoes were always ready in the morning. Soon his small shop was crowded with customers. He cut out many types of shoes: stiff boots lined with fur, delicate slippers for dancers, walking shoes for ladies, tiny shoes for children. Soon his shoes had bows and laces and buckles of fine silver. The little shop prospered as never before, and it's proprietor was soon a rich man himself. His family wanted for nothing. As the shoemaker and his wife sat by the fire one night, he said, "One of these days, I shall have to learn who has been helping us." "We could hide behind the cupboard in your workroom," she said. "That way, we could find out just who your helpers are." And that was just what they did. That evening, when the clock struck twelve, the shoemaker and his wife heard a noise. Two tiny men, each with a bag of tools, were squeezing beneath a crack under the door. Oddest of all the two elves were stark naked! The two men clambered onto the workbench and began working. Their little hands stitched and their little hammers tapped ceaselessly the whole night through. "They are so small! And they make such beautiful shoes in no time at all!" the shoemaker whispered to his wife as the dawn rose. (Indeed the elves were about the size of his own needles.) "Quiet!" his wife answered. "See how they are cleaning up now." And in a instant the two elves has disappeared beneath the door. The next day, the shoemaker's wife said, "Those little elves have done so much good for us. Since it is nearly Christmas, we should make some gifts for them." "Yes!" cried the shoemaker. "I'll make some boots that will fit them, and you make some clothes." They worked until dawn. On Christmas Eve the presents were laid out upon the workbench: two tiny jackets, two pairs of trousers, and two little woolen caps. They also left out a plate of good things to eat and drink. Then they hid once again behind the cupboard and waited to see what would happen. Just as before, the elves appeared at the stroke of midnight. They jumped onto the bench to begin their work, but when they saw all the presents they began to laugh and shout with joy. They tried on all the clothes, then helped themselves to the food and drink. Then they jumped down and danced excitedly around the workroom, and disappeared beneath the door. After Christmas, the shoemaker cut out his leather as he always had--butthe two elves never returned. "I believe they have heard us whispering," his wife said. qfof "Elves are so very shy when it comes to people, you know." "I know I will miss their help," the shoemaker said, "but we will manage. The shop is always so busy now. But my stitches will never be as tight and small as theirs!" The shoemaker did indeed continue to prosper, but he and his family always remembered the good elves who had helped them during the hard times. And each and every Christmas Eve from that year onward, they gathered around the fire to drink a toast to their tiny friends. |
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It was Christmas Eve in Rheims, France, nearly five hundred years ago. The spires of the great cathedral towered high in the sky over a throng of people who had gathered in a square before the church, celebrating the joyous Noel. Laughing children darted through the crowd as groups of youths and maidens sang carols and danced to the music of a lute and tambourine. Everywhere faces shone with such happiness, it did not seem possible there could be, in all of Rheims, one sad and lonely heart.
Yet there were four. Three of them lived in a squalid old shed by the river. Though its outward appearance was dismal, the inside was neat and clean. Its one room served as living room, dining room, bedroom and kitchen for three people, but the rough stone floor was carefully swept, and the patched covers on the straw mattresses in the corner were spotlessly clean. A rough table, broken chair, stool and rickety bench were the only furniture in the room. In a far corner stood a small charcoal brazier whose weak flame served not only to cook the meals but to warm the hut. The one touch of beauty in the little room was supplied by a tiny shrine, built on a shelf at the rear wall. A few field flowers in a bowl stood in front of it, and from the shelf hung a heavily embroidered scarlet sash which had once held a knights' shield. A young woman was bending over a small spinning wheel, a boy of seven was setting the table with their few cracked dishes, and a girl a year or so older was stirring a kettle over the brazier. The lady, whose beauty shone through in spite of her ragged clothing, was Madame la Contesse Marie de Malincourt, and the boy and girl, her son and daughter, Louis and Jeanne. As she worked, the lady was thinking sadly of Christmas only a year before, when everything had been so different. Then she had lived in a great castle, and as on every Christmas Eve, she and her husband and children had gone down to the castle gate to greet the crowd assembled. The old, the ailing, and the poor would gather there, and the Malincourts would go into the crowd giving to each villager gifts of warm clothing, healing herbs and food. Even Louis and Jeanne would give something from their own toys to the village children. Then war had swept over their happy valley; the castle had been attacked and robbed. Lady Marie's husband had been led away in chains while she and the children had fled down a secret passageway out in the night and away to the village. She found it deserted, the villagers frightened away by the attackers. During the months that followed, the three had wandered along the highway trading away their belongings bit by bit in return for food and lodging. Even Lady Mari's coat had gone to the wife of a rich merchant, and the pretty clothing of Louis and Jeanne had been replaced by coarse peasant wear. Only one thing remained of their belongings - the cover of her husband's shield, which little Louis had brought from the castle that dreadful night. "Father gave it to me to keep until he comes back," he said and through all the terrors of their flight he had clung to it. It was dear to all of them, for it was their only reminder of their father and the life they had shared together. "Mother," said Jeanne suddenly, interrupting her mother's thoughts, "it is Christmas tonight." "Yes, sighed Lady Maire, "but there will be no toys or sweets for you and little Louis the Noel." "We don't need them," the children answered. "We have you, Mother, and we can keep Christmas in our heart. Their mother looked up at them and smiled. "Yes, though life is hard," she said, "we still have each other, and even though we miss your father, I'm sure there are others in Rheims tonight that miss their lived ones also. I just wish we had something to give the poor as we once did..." A thoughtful silence filled the room. "Mother," Jeanne said excitedly, "I know something we can give." As she talked she picked up the small tallow candle from the table and hurried to one window of the hut. "See," she went on, "I will put it on the sill and perhaps someone who passes, someone like ourselves, will be happier because of this little gift of light. There - see how it shines out on the snow," and she stood back to survey her work. "You are a good child, Jeanne," said Lady Marie, then smiling gently, she resumed her work. Down in the great square, among all the lights and gaiety, was another sad heart. It beat in the breast of a little lad of nine, a boy in ragged clothes whose bare feet were thrust into clumsy wooden clogs. He was utterly alone in the world, without money or friends, cold hungry and miserable. When he tried to tell his story to some of the milling people around him, no one took any interest in him, other than to frown at him or elbow him out of the way. At last, in utter despair, he began to tramp the streets, stopping now and then to gaze at the splendid houses and to seek help. But there was no welcome in any of them for the poor lonely child. It was dark in the streets of Rheims now, and the air was growing colder, but the little child trampled on, trying desperately to find shelter before the night closed in. At last, far off down by the river, he saw a tiny gleam of light appear suddenly at a window and he hurried toward it. As he neared it, the boy saw it was only a small tallow candle at the window of a hovel, the poorest hut in all Rheims, but the steady light brought a sudden glow to his heart and he ran forward and knocked at the door. It was quickly opened by a little girl, and at once two other people had risen to greet him. In another moment he found himself seated on a stool beside the charcoal brazier. The little girl was warming one of his cold hands in her palms, while her brother was holding the other, and a beautiful woman, kneeling at his feet, drew off the wooden shoes and rubbed his icy feet. When he was thoroughly warmed, the little girl dished up into three bowls and a cracked cup the stew which had been simmering on the fire. There was only a little of it, but she passed the fullest bowl to the stranger. After a word of blessing, they ate their stew, and never had the thick soup tasted so rich and so satisfying. As they finished, a sudden flowing light filled the room, greater than the brightness of a thousand candles. There was a sound of angel voices, and the stranger had grown so radiant they could hardly bear to look at him. "Thou, with thy little candle, have lighted the Christ child on his way to Heaven," said their guest, his hand on the door latch. "This night your dearest prayer shall be answered," and in another instant he was gone. The countess and her children fell to their knees and prayed, and there they still were many minutes later when a knight in armor gently pushed open the door and entered the hut. "Mari! Jeanne! Louis!" he cried in a voice of love. "Don't you know me after all these weary months of prison and barrel? How I have searched for you!" Immediately his family clustered around him with embraces and kisses. "But, Father, how did you find us here?" cried little Louis at last. "A ragged lad I met on the highway told me where you live," answered the knight. "The Christ child," said Marie reverently, and told him the story. And so, forever after, they and all their descendants, have burned a candle in the window on the eve of Noel, to light the solitary Christ child on his way. |
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Once upon a time . . . a little girl tried to make a living by selling matches in the street.
It was New Year's Eve and the snowclad streets were deserted. From brightly lit windows came the tinkle of laughter and the sound of singing. People were getting ready to bring in the New Year. But the poor little matchseller sat sadly beside the fountain. Her ragged dress and worn shawl did not keep out the cold and she tried to keep her bare feet from touching the frozen ground. She hadn't sold one box of matches all day and she was frightened to go home, for her father would certainly be angry. It wouldn't be much warmer anyway, in the draughty attic that was her home. The little girl's fingers were stiff with cold. If only she could light a match! But what would her father say at such a waste! Falteringly she took out a match and lit it. What a nice warm flame! The little matchseller cupped her hand over it, and as she did so, she magically saw in its light a big brightly burning stove. She held out her hands to the heat, but just then the match went out and the vision faded. The night seemed blacker than before and it was getting colder. A shiver ran through the little girl's thin body. After hesitating for a long time, she struck another match on the wall, and this time, the glimmer turned the wall into a great sheet of crystal. Beyond that stood a fine table laden with food and lit by a candlestick. Holding out her arms towards the plates, the little matchseller seemed to pass through the glass, but then the match went out and the magic faded. Poor thing: in just a few seconds she had caught a glimpse of everything that life had denied her: warmth and good things to eat. Her eyes filled with tears and she lifted her gaze to the lit windows, praying that she too might know a little of such happiness. She lit the third match and an even more wonderful thing happened. There stood a Christmas tree hung with hundreds of candles, glittering with tinsel and coloured balls. "Oh, how lovely!" exclaimed the little matchseller, holding up the match. Then, the match burned her finger and flickered out. The light from the Christmas candles rose higher and higher, then one of the lights fell, leaving a trail behind it. "Someone is dying," murmured the little girl, as she remembered her beloved Granny who used to say: "When a star falls, a heart stops beating!" Scarcely aware of what she was doing, the little matchseller lit another match. This time, she saw her grandmother. "Granny, stay with me!" she pleaded, as she lit one match after the other, so that her grandmother could not disappear like all the other visions. However, Granny did not vanish, but gazed smilingly at her. Then she opened her arms and the little girl hugged her crying: "Granny, take me away with you!" A cold day dawned and a pale sun shone on the fountain and the icy road. Close by lay the lifeless body of a little girl surrounded by spent matches. "Poor little thing!" exclaimed the passersby. "She was trying to keep warm!" But by that time, the little matchseller was far away where there is neither cold, hunger nor pain. |