murderous cat! Just as Satan lurks and lies in wait for bad children, so
does the cruel cat lurk and lie in wait for naughty little mice. And you
can depend upon it that, when that awful cat heard Squeaknibble speak so
disrespectfully of Santa Claus, her wicked eyes glowed with joy, her
sharp teeth watered, and her bristling fur emitted electric sparks as
big as marrowfat peas. Then what did that blood-thirsty monster do but
scuttle as fast as she could into Dear-my-Soul's room, leap up into
Dear-my-Soul's crib, and walk off with the pretty little white muff
which Dear-my-Soul used to wear when she went for a visit to the little
girl in the next block! What upon earth did the horrid old cat want with
Dear-my-Soul's pretty little white muff? Ah, the duplicity, the
diabolical ingenuity of that cat! Listen.
"In the first place," resumed the little mauve mouse, after a pause that
testified eloquently to the depth of her emotion,--"in the first place,
that wretched cat dressed herself up in that pretty little white muff,
by which you are to understand that she crawled through the muff just so
far as to leave her four cruel legs at liberty."
"Yes, I understand," said the old clock.
"Then she put on the boy doll's fur cap," said the little mauve mouse,
"and when she was arrayed in the boy doll's fur cap and Dear-my-Soul's
pretty little white muff, of course she didn't look like a cruel cat at
all. But whom did she look like?"
"Like the boy doll," suggested the old clock.
"No, no!" cried the little mauve mouse.
"Like Dear-my-Soul?" asked the old clock.
"How stupid you are!" exclaimed the little mauve mouse. "Why, she
looked like Santa Claus, of course!"
"Oh, yes; I see," said the old clock. "Now I begin to be interested; go
on."
"Alas!" sighed the little mauve mouse, "not much remains to be told; but
there is more of my story left than there was of Squeaknibble when that
horrid cat crawled out of that miserable disguise. You are to understand
that, contrary to her sagacious mother's injunction, and in notorious
derision of the mooted coming of Santa Claus, Squeaknibble issued from
the friendly hole in the chimney corner, and gambolled about over this
very carpet, and, I dare say, in this very moonlight."
"I do not know," said the moonbeam, faintly. "I am so very old, and I
have seen so many things--I do not know."
"Right merrily was Squeaknibble gambolling," continued the little mauve
mouse, "and she had just turned a double back somersault without the use
of what remained of her tail, when, all of a sudden, she beheld, looming
up like a monster ghost, a figure all in white fur! Oh, how frightened
she was, and how her little heart did beat! 'Purr, purr-r-r,' said the
ghost in white fur. 'Oh, please don't hurt me!' pleaded Squeaknibble.
'No; I'll not hurt you,' said the ghost in white fur; 'I'm Santa Claus,
and I've brought you a beautiful piece of savory old cheese, you dear
little mousie, you.' Poor Squeaknibble was deceived; a sceptic all her
life, she was at last befooled by the most palpable and most fatal of
frauds. 'How good of you!' said Squeaknibble. 'I didn't believe there
was a Santa Claus, and--' but before she could say more she was seized
by two sharp, cruel claws that conveyed her crushed body to the
murderous mouth of mousedom's most malignant foe. I can dwell no longer
upon this harrowing scene. Suffice it to say that ere the morrow's sun
rose like a big yellow Herkimer County cheese upon the spot where that
tragedy had been enacted, poor Squeaknibble passed to that bourn whence
two inches of her beautiful tail had preceded her by the space of three
weeks to a day. As for Santa Claus, when he came that Christmas eve,
bringing morceaux de Brie and of Stilton for the other little mice, he
heard with sorrow of Squeaknibble's fate; and ere he departed he said
that in all his experience he had never known of a mouse or of a child
that had prospered after once saying that he didn't believe in Santa
Claus."
"Well, that is a remarkable story," said the old clock. "But if you
believe in Santa Claus, why aren't you in bed?"
"That's where I shall be presently," answered the little mauve mouse,
"but I must have my scamper, you know. It is very pleasant, I assure
you, to frolic in the light of the moon; only I cannot understand why
you are always so cold and so solemn and so still, you pale, pretty
little moonbeam."
"Indeed, I do not know that I am so," said the moonbeam. "But I am very
old, and I have travelled many, many leagues, and I have seen wondrous
things. Sometimes I toss upon the ocean, sometimes I fall upon a
slumbering flower, sometimes I rest upon a dead child's face. I see the
fairies at their play, and I hear mothers singing lullabies. Last night
I swept across the frozen bosom of a river. A woman's face looked up at
me; it was the picture of eternal rest. 'She is sleeping,' said the
frozen river. 'I rock her to and fro, and sing to her. Pass gently by, O
moonbeam; pass gently by, lest you awaken her.'"
"How strangely you talk," said the old clock. "Now, I'll warrant me
that, if you wanted to, you could tell many a pretty and wonderful
story. You must know many a Christmas tale; pray, tell us one to wear
away this night of Christmas watching."
"I know but one," said the moonbeam. "I have told it over and over
again, in every land and in every home; yet I do not weary of it. It is
very simple. Should you like to hear it?"
"Indeed we should," said the old clock; "but before you begin, let me
strike twelve; for I shouldn't want to interrupt you."
When the old clock had performed this duty with somewhat more than usual
alacrity, the moonbeam began its story:--
"Upon a time--so long ago that I can't tell how long ago it was--I fell
upon a hillside. It was in a far distant country; this I know, because,
although it was the Christmas time, it was not in that country as it is
wont to be in countries to the north. Hither the snow-king never came;
flowers bloomed all the year, and at all times the lambs found pleasant
pasturage on the hillsides. The night wind was balmy, and there was a
fragrance of cedar in its breath. There were violets on the hillside,
and I fell amongst them and lay there. I kissed them, and they awakened.
'Ah, is it you, little moonbeam?' they said, and they nestled in the
grass which the lambs had left uncropped.
"A shepherd lay upon a broad stone on the hillside; above him spread an
olive-tree, old, ragged, and gloomy; but now it swayed its rusty
branches majestically in the shifting air of night. The shepherd's name
was Benoni. Wearied with long watching, he had fallen asleep; his crook
had slipped from his hand. Upon the hillside, too, slept the shepherd's
flock. I had counted them again and again; I had stolen across their
gentle faces and brought them pleasant dreams of green pastures and of
cool water-brooks. I had kissed old Benoni, too, as he lay slumbering
there; and in his dreams he seemed to see Israel's King come upon
earth, and in his dreams he murmured the promised Messiah's name.
"'Ah, is it you, little moonbeam?' quoth the violets. 'You have come in
good time. Nestle here with us, and see wonderful things come to pass.'
"'What are these wonderful things of which you speak?' I asked.
"'We heard the old olive-tree telling of them to-night,' said the
violets. 'Do not go to sleep, little violets,' said the old olive-tree,
'for this is Christmas night, and the Master shall walk upon the
hillside in the glory of the midnight hour.' So we waited and watched;
one by one the lambs fell asleep; one by one the stars peeped out; the
shepherd nodded and crooned and crooned and nodded, and at last he, too,
went fast asleep, and his crook slipped from his keeping. Then we called
to the old olive-tree yonder, asking how soon the midnight hour would
come; but all the old olive-tree answered was 'Presently, presently,'
and finally we, too, fell asleep, wearied by our long watching, and
lulled by the rocking and swaying of the old olive-tree in the breezes
of the night.
"'But who is this Master?' I asked.
"'A child, a little child,' they answered. 'He is called the little
Master by the others. He comes here often, and plays among the flowers
of the hillside. Sometimes the lambs, gambolling too carelessly, have
crushed and bruised us so that we lie bleeding and are like to die; but
the little Master heals our wounds and refreshes us once again.'
"I marvelled much to hear these things. 'The midnight hour is at hand,'
said I, 'and I will abide with you to see this little Master of whom you
speak.' So we nestled among the verdure of the hillside, and sang songs
one to another.
"'Come away!' called the night wind; 'I know a beauteous sea not far
hence, upon whose bosom you shall float, float, float away out into the
mists and clouds, if you will come with me.'
"But I hid under the violets and amid the tall grass, that the night
wind might not woo me with its pleading. 'Ho, there, old olive-tree!'
cried the violets; 'do you see the little Master coming? Is not the
midnight hour at hand?'
"'I can see the town yonder,' said the old olive-tree. 'A star beams
bright over Bethlehem, the iron gates swing open, and the little Master
comes.'
"Two children came to the hillside. The one, older than his comrade, was
Dimas, the son of Benoni. He was rugged and sinewy, and over his brown
shoulders was flung a goatskin; a leathern cap did not confine his long,
dark curly hair. The other child was he whom they called the little
Master; about his slender form clung raiment white as snow, and around
his face of heavenly innocence fell curls of golden yellow. So beautiful
a child I had not seen before, nor have I ever since seen such as he.
And as they came together to the hillside, there seemed to glow about
the little Master's head a soft white light, as if the moon had sent its
tenderest, fairest beams to kiss those golden curls.
"'What sound was that?' cried Dimas, for he was exceeding fearful.
"'Have no fear, Dimas,' said the little Master. 'Give me thy hand, and I
will lead thee.'
"Presently they came to the rock whereon Benoni, the shepherd, lay; and
they stood under the old olive-tree, and the old olive-tree swayed no
longer in the night wind, but bent its branches reverently in the
presence of the little Master. It seemed as if the wind, too, stayed in
its shifting course just then; for suddenly there was a solemn hush, and
you could hear no noise, except that in his dreams Benoni spoke the
Messiah's name.
"'Thy father sleeps,' said the little Master, 'and it is well that it is
so; for that I love thee, Dimas, and that thou shalt walk with me in my
Father's kingdom, I would show thee the glories of my birthright.'
"Then all at once sweet music filled the air, and light, greater than
the light of day, illumined the sky and fell upon all that hillside. The
heavens opened, and angels, singing joyous songs, walked to the earth.
More wondrous still, the stars, falling from their places in the sky,
clustered upon the old olive-tree, and swung hither and thither like
colored lanterns. The flowers of the hillside all awakened, and they,
too, danced and sang. The angels, coming hither, hung gold and silver
and jewels and precious stones upon the old olive, where swung the
stars; so that the glory of that sight, though I might live forever, I
shall never see again. When Dimas heard and saw these things he fell
upon his knees, and catching the hem of the little Master's garment, he
kissed it.
"'Greater joy than this shall be thine, Dimas,' said the little Master;
'but first must all things be fulfilled.'
"All through that Christmas night did the angels come and go with their
sweet anthems; all through that Christmas night did the stars dance and
sing; and when it came my time to steal away, the hillside was still
beautiful with the glory and the music of heaven."
"Well, is that all?" asked the old clock.
"No," said the moonbeam; "but I am nearly done. The years went on.
Sometimes I tossed upon the ocean's bosom, sometimes I scampered o'er a
battle-field, sometimes I lay upon a dead child's face. I heard the
voices of Darkness and mothers' lullabies and sick men's prayers,--and
so the years went on.
"I fell one night upon a hard and furrowed face. It was of ghostly
pallor. A thief was dying on the cross, and this was his wretched face.
About the cross stood men with staves and swords and spears, but none
paid heed unto the thief. Somewhat beyond this cross another was lifted
up, and upon it was stretched a human body my light fell not upon. But I
heard a voice that somewhere I had heard before,--though where I did not
know,--and this voice blessed those that railed and jeered and
shamefully entreated. And suddenly the voice called 'Dimas, Dimas!' and
the thief upon whose hardened face I rested made answer.
"Then I saw that it was Dimas; yet to this wicked criminal there
remained but little of the shepherd child whom I had seen in all his
innocence upon the hillside. Long years of sinful life had seared their
marks into his face; yet now, at the sound of that familiar voice,
somewhat of the old-time boyish look came back, and in the yearning of
the anguished eyes I seemed to see the shepherd's son again.
"'The Master!' cried Dimas, and he stretched forth his neck that he
might see him that spake.
"'O Dimas, how art thou changed!' cried the Master, yet there was in
his voice no tone of rebuke save that which cometh of love.
"Then Dimas wept, and in that hour he forgot his pain. And the Master's
consoling voice and the Master's presence there wrought in the dying
criminal such a new spirit, that when at last his head fell upon his
bosom, and the men about the cross said that he was dead, it seemed as
if I shined not upon a felon's face, but upon the face of the gentle
shepherd lad, the son of Benoni.
"And shining on that dead and peaceful face, I bethought me of the
little Master's words that he had spoken under the old olive-tree upon
the hillside: 'Your eyes behold the promised glory now, O Dimas,' I
whispered, 'for with the Master you walk in Paradise.'"
* * * * *
Ah, little Dear-my-Soul, you know--you know whereof the moonbeam spake.
The shepherd's bones are dust, the flocks are scattered, the old
olive-tree is gone, the flowers of the hillside are withered, and none
knoweth where the grave of Dimas is made. But last night, again, there
shined a star over Bethlehem, and the angels descended from the sky to
earth, and the stars sang together in glory. And the bells,--hear them,
little Dear-my-Soul, how sweetly they are ringing,--the bells bear us
the good tidings of great joy this Christmas morning, that our Christ is
born, and that with him he bringeth peace on earth and good-will toward
men.
1888.
* * * * *
The Divell's Chrystmass.
THE DIVELL'S CHRYSTMASS.
It befell that on a time ye Divell did walk to and fro upon ye earth,
having in his mind full evill cogitations how that he might do despight;
for of soche nature is ye Divell, and ever hath been, that continually
doth he go about among men, being so dispositioned that it sufficeth him
not that men sholde of their own forwardness, and by cause of the guile
born in them, turn unto his wickedness, but rather that he sholde by his
crewel artifices and diabolical machinations tempt them at all times and
upon every hand to do his fiendly plaisaunce.
But it so fortuned that this time wherein ye Divell so walked upon ye
earth was ye Chrystmass time; and wit ye well that how evill soever ye
harte of man ben at other seasons, it is tofilled at ye Chrystmass time
with charity and love, like as if it ben sanctified by ye exceeding
holiness of that feast. Leastwise, this moche we know, that, whereas at
other times envy and worldliness do prevail, for a verity our natures
are toched at ye Chrystmass time as by ye hand of divinity, and
conditioned for merciful deeds unto our fellow kind. Right wroth was ye
Divell, therefore, when that he knew this ben ye Chrystmass time. And as
rage doth often confirm in ye human harte an evill purpose, so was ye
Divell now more diabolically minded to work his unclean will, and full
hejeously fell he to roar and lash his ribald legs with his poyson
taile. But ye Divell did presently conceive that naught might he
accomplish by this means, since that men, affrighted by his roaring and
astonied by ye fumes of brimstone and ye sulphur flames issuing from his
mouth, wolde flee therefrom; whereas by subtile craft and by words of
specious guile it more frequently befalls that ye Divell seduceth men
and lureth them into his toils. So then ye Divell did in a little season
feign to be in a full plaisaunt mind and of sweet purpose; and when that
he had girt him about with an hermit's cloak, so that none might see his
cloven feet and his poyson taile, right briskly did he fare him on his
journey, and he did sing ye while a plaisaunt tune, like he had ben full
of joyous contentation.
Now it befell that presently in his journey he did meet with a frere,
Dan Dennyss, an holy man that fared him to a neighboring town for deeds
of charity and godliness. Unto him spake ye Divell full courteysely, and
required of him that he might bear him company; to which ye frere gave
answer in seemly wise, that, if so be that he ben of friendly
disposition, he wolde make him joy of his companionship and
conversation. Then, whiles that they journeyed together, began ye Divell
to discourse of theologies and hidden mysteries, and of conjurations,
and of negromancy and of magick, and of Chaldee, and of astrology, and
of chymistry, and of other occult and forbidden sciences, wherein ye
Divell and all that ply his damnable arts are mightily learned and
practised. Now wit ye well that this frere, being an holy man and a
simple, and having an eye single to ye blessed works of his calling, was
presently mightily troubled in his mind by ye artifices of ye Divell,
and his harte began to waver and to be filled with miserable doubtings;
for knowing nothing of ye things whereof ye Divell spake, he colde not
make answer thereto, nor, being of godly cogitation and practice, had he
ye confutations wherewith to meet ye abhominable argumentations of ye
fiend.
Yet (and now shall I tell you of a special Providence) it did fortune,
whiles yet ye Divell discoursed in this profane wise, there was
vouchsafed unto ye frere a certain power to resist ye evill that
environed him; for of a sodaine he did cast his doubtings and his
misgivings to ye winds, and did fall upon ye Divell and did buffet him
full sore, crying, "Thou art ye Divell! Get thee gone!" And ye frere
plucked ye cloake from ye Divell and saw ye cloven feet and ye poyson
taile, and straightway ye Divell ran roaring away. But ye frere fared
upon his journey, for that he had had a successful issue from this
grevious temptation, with thanksgiving and prayse.
Next came ye Divell into a town wherein were many people going to and
fro upon works of charity, and doing righteous practices; and sorely
did it repent ye Divell when that he saw ye people bent upon ye giving
of alms and ye doing of charitable deeds. Therefore with mighty
diligence did ye Divell apply himself to poyson ye minds of ye people,
shewing unto them in artful wise how that by idleness or by righteous
dispensation had ye poore become poore, and that, soche being ye will of
God, it was an evill and rebellious thing against God to seeke to
minister consolation unto these poore peoples. Soche like specious
argumentations did ye Divell use to gain his diabolical ends; but by
means of a grace whereof none then knew ye source, these men and these
women unto whom ye Divell spake his hejeous heresies presently
discovered force to withstand these fiendly temptations, and to continue
in their Chrystianly practices, to ye glory of their faith and to ye
benefite of ye needy, but to ye exceeding discomfiture of ye Divell; for
ye which discomfiture I do give hearty thanks, and so also shall all of
you, if so be that your hartes within you be of rightful disposition.
All that day long fared ye Divell to and fro among ye people of ye town,
but none colde he bring into his hellish way of cogitation. Nor do I
count this to be a marvellous thing; for, as I myself have herein shewn
and as eche of us doth truly know, how can there be a place for ye
Divell upon earth during this Chrystmass time when in ye very air that
we breathe abideth a certain love and concord sent of heaven for the
controul and edification of mankind, filling human hartes with peace and
inclining human hands to ye delectable and blessed employments of
charity? Nay, but you shall know that all this very season whereof I
speak ye holy Chrystchilde himself did follow ye Divell upon earth,
forefending the crewel evills which ye Divell fain wolde do and girding
with confidence and love ye else frail natures of men. Soothly it is
known of common report among you that when ye Chrystmass season comes
upon ye earth there cometh with it also the spirit of our Chryst
himself, that in ye similitude of a little childe descendeth from heaven
and walketh among men. And if so be that by any chance ye Divell is
minded to issue from his foul pit at soche a time, wit ye well that
wheresoever ye fiend fareth to do his diabolical plaisaunce there also
close at hand followeth ye gentle Chrystchilde; so that ye Divell, try
how hard soever he may, hath no power at soche a time over the hartes of
men.
Nay, but you shall know furthermore that of soche sweete quality and of
so great efficacy is this heavenly spirit of charity at ye Chrystmass
season, that oftentimes is ye Divell himself made to do a kindly deed.
So at this time of ye which I you tell, ye Divell, walking upon ye earth
with evill purpose, become finally overcome by ye gracious desire to
give an alms; but nony alms had ye Divell to give, sith it is wisely
ordained that ye Divell's offices shall be confined to his domain. Right
grievously tormented therefore was ye Divell, in that he had nought of
alms to bestow; but when presently he did meet with a beggar childe that
besought him charity, ye Divell whipped out a knife and cut off his own
taile, which taile ye Divell gave to ye beggar childe, for he had not
else to give for a lyttle trinket toy to make merry with. Now wit ye
well that this poyson instrument brought no evill to ye beggar childe,
for by a sodaine miracle it ben changed into a flowre of gold, ye which
gave great joy unto ye beggar childe and unto all them that saw this
miracle how that it had ben wrought, but not by ye Divell. Then returned
ye Divell unto his pit of fire; and since that day, whereupon befell
this thing of which I speak, ye Divell hath had nony taile at all, as
you that hath scene ye same shall truly testify.
But all that day long walked ye Chrystchilde upon ye earth, unseen to ye
people but toching their hartes with his swete love and turning their
hands to charity; and all felt that ye Chrystchilde was with them. So it
was plaisaunt to do ye Chrystchilde's will, to succor ye needy, to
comfort ye afflicted, and to lift up ye oppressed. Most plaisauntest of
all was it to make merry with ye lyttle children, sithence of soche is
ye kingdom whence ye Chrystchilde cometh.
Behold, ye season is again at hand; once more ye snows of winter lie
upon all ye earth, and all Chrystantie is arrayed to the holy feast.
Presently shall ye star burn with exceeding brightness in ye east, ye
sky shall be full of swete music, ye angels shall descend to earth with
singing, and ye bells--ye joyous Chrystmass bells--shall tell us of ye
babe that was born in Bethlehem.
Come to us now, O gentle Chrystchilde, and walke among us peoples of ye
earth; enwheel us round about with thy protecting care; forefend all
envious thoughts and evil deeds; toche thou our hearts with the glory of
thy love, and quicken us to practices of peace, good-will, and charity
meet for thy approval and acceptation.
1888.
* * * * *
The Mountain and the Sea.
THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SEA.
Once upon a time the air, the mountain, and the sea lived undisturbed
upon all the earth. The mountain alone was immovable; he stood always
here upon his rocky foundation, and the sea rippled and foamed at his
feet, while the air danced freely over his head and about his grim face.
It came to pass that both the sea and the air loved the mountain, but
the mountain loved the sea.