It was Christmas Eve; the brilliantly-lighted streets were thronged with
happy faces, and the merry hum of children’s voices seemed to rise above
all other sounds in the busy crowd. Our own young folks had gone to rest
with their little hearts filled with joyous expectations for the morrow.
The stockings, hung by the chimney corner, had already been duly visited
by the representatives of Santa Claus, and fatigued with the labors of
the day, we would gladly have sought repose, when a gentle ring at the
bell attracted our attention, and directly after, our maid of all work
entered, and asked if we had any thing to give to a poor child who was
standing at our door.
“Poor thing!” we exclaimed involuntarily. “It is hard to think that any
child is begging from door to door, on Christmas Eve, when our own
darlings are so happy.”
“Tell the child to step in,” was the direction to Jenny, and in a few
moments a modest-looking little girl stood before us. Her slender form
was but scantily protected from the cold; and her countenance showed
that she was indeed in need of the assistance which she craved.
Her tale was a simple one. Her mother was very poor, and there were five
children, of whom she was the eldest.
We inquired for the father, and her blue eyes were fixed upon the
ground, as she answered timidly, that he was at home, but he was often
sick, and did not do much for their support. A few more questions
convinced us that he was a victim to that fatal evil which destroys the
happiness of so many homes.
Our means would not allow us to do much for the poor child, but the
little that we had to give was given cheerfully, and with many thanks
she bade us good evening. As she left the room I recalled her, and
placing a small piece of silver in her hands, I said:
“You may have this for yourself. I give it to you for a Christmas gift.”
“And may I spend it for what I please?” she asked, her whole face
brightening with pleasure.
“Certainly. What will you buy?”
“O, a great many things! A present for mother and each of my brothers
and sisters, and one for poor father too.”
“But, my child, you have not money enough to buy something for each
one.”
“O yes, ma’am, a great plenty! I will buy a nice spool of cotton for
mother, she needs one very much, and a penny book for Mary, a whistle
for Johnny, a cake for Thomas, and a stick of candy for the baby. Then
there will be four cents to spend for father, and I will go to the cheap
bookstore, and ask them to sell me some good book, which will teach him
not to drink rum any more. He is very, very kind when he is sober.”
“And will you come and see me again next week, and tell me how they
liked their presents?” I asked, much interested by the simple,
disinterested manner of the child.
“Thank you, ma’am, I will gladly do so,” was the reply, and with another
grateful good-evening, she departed.
This little incident gave rise to a train of sad reflections. Happiness,
it appeared to me, was unequally distributed. Even at this most joyous
season of the year, how few sunbeams found their way to the homes of the
poor. Indeed, their burdens must seem more heavy to bear, when
contrasted with the luxury and gayety of the wealthy. They gazed upon
their ill-fed, half naked little ones, while the children of their more
prosperous neighbor passed their door loaded with useless toys, the
price of which would have seemed to them a little mine of wealth.
Oppressed with these thoughts, I laid my head upon my pillow, and was
soon in the land of dreams.
Strange visions flitted before me. At one time I seemed to be revelling
in the luxurious mansions of the rich, and then, by some sudden and
mysterious transformation, the extreme of want was my portion. Suddenly
a lovely being stood before me, whose very presence seemed to fill my
soul with joy. Taking my hand in hers, she said, “Come with me, and I
will show thee that this joyous season of the year may bring happiness
to the homes of the poor, as well as to those of the wealthy. I am the
Spirit of Happiness, and in the most humble abode on earth I often find
a dwelling-place.” Joyfully I yielded to her guidance, and together we
seemed to traverse the busy streets of the city. At one of the most
splendid of the brilliantly-illuminated mansions we paused, and in
another moment had gained admittance, and, apparently unseen ourselves,
surveyed the happy party within. Young men and maidens were gliding
through the graceful figures of the merry dance, lovely children were
sporting around, joyfully displaying the Christmas gifts of parents and
friends; while a less active, but no less happy looking group, were
seated in a distant part of the room, gazing with quiet pleasure upon
their children and grandchildren, who at this cheerful season had
gathered around them. Every thing around gave evidence of luxury and
splendor, and turning to my companion, I exclaimed almost in a tone of
upbraiding:
“Yes, here indeed is happiness. The New Year is to them a time for
rejoicing, and ‘Merry Christmas’ a day of joyful expectations and
realities; but it is not thus with the poor. The words merriment and joy
would seem to them a mockery.”
“Not so, my friend,” replied my guide. “The happiness which you see
before you is capable of extension. These are the mediums of the
blessings of Him whose birth into this natural world they now celebrate.
The day which proclaimed peace and good will upon earth, is well
calculated to remind these stewards of the Lord, that the wealth
intrusted to their charge is not for themselves alone. Behold that
venerable old man. He is the grandfather of this little flock. Every
year he distributes large sums among the poor, making his grandchildren
and great grandchildren his almoners. The happiness which you see in the
countenances of the youth and maidens, the innocent glee of the
children, is in a great measure caused by the joy which they have this
day dispensed among the needy. Merely selfish gratification would not
produce genuine contentment and joy. All selfish delights are evanescent
and changeable.”
The scene changed, and we stood in a meanly-furnished apartment of one
of the most humble dwellings in a narrow street of the city. A father,
mother, and five children, were just seated to partake of their frugal
meal. Every thing around told of poverty, but the countenances of the
parents beamed with contentment, and the bright eyes of the children
shone with joy. In the short but fervent prayer which the father uttered
ere they commenced eating, gratitude was expressed to heaven for the
blessings which this most joyful season of the year had brought to them.
“For what are they thus grateful?” I inquired. “Contrast their situation
with that of the happy party whom we have just left.”
“And yet they are not less happy,” was the reply. “Listen to the joyful
exclamations of the children.”
I listened, and the words of the little ones soon convinced me that my
guide was right. Their hearts seemed overflowing with joy. The gifts
which Christmas had brought to them and their parents were, mostly,
substantial articles of food and clothing; but there was one small
package of toys which had lost the charm of novelty for the children of
some wealthy neighbor, and which, though no longer new and glittering,
were whole and good. In the eyes of the poor children they were of
inestimable value, and they gathered around them with so much delight,
that I doubted not that they derived more pleasure from them than the
original possessors had ever done.
Again the scene changed, and we stood in a miserable hovel, where sat a
poor mother, with three little children clinging to her side, and
rending her heart with their cries for bread. No fire was on the hearth,
and the whole scene was one of extreme poverty and desolation.
“Surely there is no happiness here,” I whispered.
“Christmas will bring them at least one ray,” replied my guide; and even
as she spoke, a load of wood and coal stopped at their door, and a man
entered to inform them that he had orders to supply them with fuel, and
desired to know where it should be put. While the grateful woman was yet
uttering heartfelt expressions of thankfulness, a lad entered with a
large basket of provisions, which he placed upon the table, at the same
time slipping a bank note of trifling value into her hand, saying
gayly,—
“Here is a merry Christmas to you, my good woman.”
Tears streamed from the eyes of the mother, while the hungry little ones
clustered around the basket, and were soon bountifully supplied with a
portion of its contents.
Deeply interested in this affecting little scene, I had nearly forgotten
the presence of my companion, when a gentle whisper aroused me.
“Would you see the effects of your own Christmas gift?” and scarcely had
I signified my assent, when we stood in another humble dwelling, where I
recognized the little girl to whom I had given the shilling, surrounded
by her family. They had apparently just received their gifts, for the
mother was smiling through her tears, as she looked at the spool of
cotton which lay on her lap; and Mary, and Johnny, and Thomas, and the
baby were all in the enjoyment of the book, the whistle, the cake, and
the candy: while the elder sister stood gazing on the happy little
group, herself the happiest of them all, and joining heartily in the
blessings which they heaped upon the good lady who had given her the
shilling. In the corner of the room sat the father, and in his hand was
the book which had been purchased at the cheap bookstore with the four
cents. I saw at once that it was a Testament. He had not yet opened it,
but sat looking at his wife and children with a subdued, mournful
expression of countenance, which awakened a strong conviction that there
was yet a chance for his reformation.
At length little Mary approached him timidly, and said:
“Look at the book sister bought for me, father; it is not so large as
yours. May I look at yours?”
“Yes, Mary, you may read to me from it, if you like; my head aches, and
I cannot read myself.”
The noisy mirth of the children was hushed, while the child read from
the Book of Life. Some of the passages were singularly appropriate, and
tears rolled down the cheeks of the unhappy man as he listened. As she
paused at the close of the chapter, the elder girl drew to his side and
whispered,—
“Will you not pray with us, as you used to do long ago, dear father?”
As if impelled by an irresistible power, he complied. Prayer and praise
had long been strangers to his lips, but now his petitions were fervent,
his confessions of past error full, and expressive of deep humility.
As they rose from their knees, the eyes of the husband and wife met, and
they fell into each others arms.
One long, earnest embrace, and then the father clasped his children to
his bosom.
“With the help of God, I will no longer be unworthy of you,” he
exclaimed. “This precious little Christmas gift shall be my guide, and
in obedience to its precepts we shall yet find happiness.”
I uttered a joyful exclamation and awoke, but the remembrance of my
dream was vividly present; and as the rays of the morning sun beamed
brightly in at our windows, I felt a pleasing confidence that the day
would bring happiness to the poor as well as to the rich. All
reflections upon the visions of the night were soon banished, however,
by the shouts of “Merry Christmas” from numerous happy little voices at
our door, and we hastened to join in their pleasure.
A week passed by, and the little heroine of Christmas Eve again stood at
our door. It was wonderful what a change a few happy days had wrought in
her appearance; and her whole face was radiant with joy, as she told me
that they were all so happy now.
“Dear father had promised never to drink again, and he had good work,
and they could all live comfortably.” And again and again she assured me
that their happiness was all owing, through the blessing of God, to the
little book which she bought for father with a part of my Christmas
gift.