Heavily, heavily fell the snow, covering the dark-brown earth, already
hardened by the frost, with a pure white covering. As the rain falls
alike upon the just and upon the unjust; so, too, the snow, God’s
kindred messenger, knows no distinction of persons,—visiting all alike,
forgetting none, and passing by none.
In one of the principal streets of New York stood a boy of some twelve
years. His clothing was poor, and too scanty to afford a sufficient
protection against the inclemency of the season. Through the visor of his
cap, which had become detached in the middle, having a connection only at
the two extremities, might be seen his rich brown hair. Notwithstanding
the drawback of his coarse and ill-fitting attire, it was evident that
he possessed a more than ordinary share of boyish beauty. But just at
present his brow is overcast with a shade of anxiety; and his frame
trembles with the cold, from which he is so insufficiently shielded.
It is a handsome street, that in which he is standing. On either side he
beholds the residences of those on whom Fortune has showered her favors.
Bright lights gleam from the parlor windows, and shouts of mirth and
laughter ring out upon the night.
All is joy and brightness and festivity within those palace-homes.
The snow-flakes fall idly against the window-panes. They cannot chill
the hearts within, nor place a bar upon their enjoyment; for this is
Christmas Eve, long awaited, at length arrived. Christmas Eve, around
which so many youthful anticipations cluster, has enjoyments peculiarly
its own, over which the elements, however boisterous, have no control.
Yet, to some, Christmas Eve brings more sorrow than enjoyment,—serving
only to heighten the contrast between present poverty and discomfort and
past affluence.
But all this time we have left our little hero shivering in the street.
Cold and uncomfortable as he was, as well as anxious in mind,—for he
had lost his way, and knew not how to find it again,—he could not help
forgetting his situation, for the time, in witnessing the scene which
met his eye, as, for a moment, he stood in front of a handsome residence
on the south side of the street. The curtains were drawn aside; so that,
by supporting himself on the railing, he had an unobstructed view of the
scene within.
It was a spacious parlor, furnished in a style elegant, but not
ostentatious. In the centre of the apartment was a Christmas-tree,
brilliant with tapers, which were gleaming from every branch and twig.
Gifts of various kinds were hung upon the tree, around which were
gathered a group of three children, respectively of eight, six, and
four years. The eldest was a winsome fairy, with sparkling eyes and
dancing feet. The others were boys, who were making the most of this
rare opportunity of sitting up after nine o’clock. At a little distance
stood Mr. Dinsmoor and his wife, gazing with unalloyed enjoyment at the
happiness of their children.
While Lizzie was indulging in expressions of delight at the superb wax
doll which St. Nicholas had so generously provided, her attention was for
a moment drawn to the window, through which she distinctly saw the figure
of our hero, who, as we have said, had in his eagerness raised himself
upon the railing outside, in order to obtain a better view. She uttered
an exclamation of surprise.
“Why, mother! there’s a boy looking in at the window! Just look at him!”
Mrs. Dinsmoor looked in the direction indicated, and saw the little boy,
without his perceiving that attention had been drawn towards him.
“Some poor boy,” she remarked to her husband, in a compassionate tone,
“who loses for a moment the sensation of his own discomfort in witnessing
our happiness. See how eagerly he looks at the tree! which no doubt
appears like something marvellous to him.”
“Why can’t you let him come in?” asked Lizzie, eagerly. “He must be very
cold out there, with the snow-flakes falling upon him. Perhaps he would
like to have a nearer view of our tree.”
“Very well and kindly thought of, my little girl,” said Mr. Dinsmoor,
placing his hand for a moment upon her clustering locks. “I will follow
your suggestion; but I must do it carefully, or he may be frightened, and
run away before he knows what are our intentions.”
So speaking, Mr. Dinsmoor moved cautiously to the front door, and opened
it suddenly. The boy, startled by the sound, turned towards Mr. Dinsmoor
with a frightened air, as if fearing that he would be suspected of some
improper motive.
“Indeed, sir,” said he, earnestly, “I didn’t mean any harm; but it looked
so bright and cheerful inside that I couldn’t help looking in.”
“You have done nothing wrong, my boy,” said Mr. Dinsmoor, kindly. “But
you must be cold here. Come in, and you will have a chance to see more
comfortably than you now do.”
The boy looked a little doubtful; for to him, neglected as he had been
by the rich and prosperous all his life, it was very difficult to imagine
that he was actually invited to enter the imposing mansion before him as
a guest. Perhaps Mr. Dinsmoor divined his doubts; for he continued,—
“Come: you must not refuse the invitation. There are some little people
inside who would be very much disappointed if you should, since it was
they who commissioned me to invite you.”
“I am sure, sir, I am very much obliged both to them and to you,” said
the boy, gratefully, advancing towards Mr. Dinsmoor, of whom he had lost
whatever little distrust he had at first felt.
A moment afterwards, and the boy stepped within the spacious parlor.
To him, whose home offered no attractions, and few comforts, the scene
spread before him might well seem a scene of enchantment.
“Lizzie,” said Mr. Dinsmoor, “come forward and welcome your guest. I
would introduce him to you; but, unluckily, I do not know his name.”
“My name is Willie,—Willie Grant,” was the boy’s reply.
“Then, Willie Grant, this is Miss Lizzie Dinsmoor, who is, I am sure,
glad to see you, since it was at her request that I invited you to enter.”
Willie raised his eyes timidly, and bent them for a moment on the
singularly beautiful child, who had come forward and frankly placed her
hand in his.
There is something irresistible in the witchery of beauty; and Willie
felt a warm glow crimsoning his cheeks, as for a moment, forgetful of
every thing else, he bent his eyes earnestly upon Lizzie. Then another
feeling came over him; and, with a look of shame at his scanty and
ill-fitting garments, he dropped her hand, and involuntarily shrank
back, as if seeking to screen them from sight.
Perceiving the movement, and guessing its cause, Mr. Dinsmoor, with a
view to dissipate these feelings, led forward Harry and Charlie, the
younger boys, and told them to make acquaintance with Willie. With loud
shouts of delight, they displayed the various gifts which St. Nicholas
had brought them, and challenged his admiration.
Every thing was new to Willie. His childhood had not been smiled upon by
Fortune; and the costly toys which the boys exhibited elicited quite as
much admiration as they could desire.
Occupied in this way, his constraint gradually wore off to such a degree
that he assisted Charlie and Harry in trying their new toys. Soon,
however, the recollection that it was growing late, and that he had yet
to find his way home, came to him; and, taking his old hat, he said to
Mr. Dinsmoor, in an embarrassed manner,—
“My mother will be expecting me home; and I should already have been
there, but that I lost my way, and happened to look in at your window,
and you were so kind as to let me come in.”
“Where does your mother live, my little fellow?” asked Mr. Dinsmoor.
“On ⸺ Street.”
“Oh! that is not far off. I will myself show you the way, if you will
remain a few minutes longer.”
Mr. Dinsmoor rang the bell, and ordered a plate of cake and apples, as he
conjectured they would not be unacceptable to his little visitor.