The baby laughed, the baby crowed, to see the tapers bright;
The forest baby felt the joy, and shared in the delight.
And when at last the tapers died, and when the baby slept,
The little fir in silent night a patient vigil kept;
Though scorched and brown its needles were, it had no heart to grieve.
"I have not lived in vain," he said; "thank God for Christmas eve!"
_--Susan Coolidge_.
* * * * *
=The Russian Santa Claus.=
By LIZZIE M. HADLEY.
Over the Russian snows one day,
Upon the eve of a Christmas day,
While still in the heavens shone afar,
Like a spark of fire, that wondrous star,
Three kings with jewels and gold bedight
Came journeying on through the wintry night.
Out of the East they rode amain,
With servants and camels in their train.
Laden with spices, myrrh, and gold,
Gems and jewels of worth untold,
Presents such as to-day men bring,
To lay at the feet of some Eastern king.
Wrinkled and feeble, old and gray,
Dame Babousca, that Christmas day,
Looked from her hut beside the moor,
Where the four roads crossed by her cottage door,
And saw the kings on their camels white,
A shadowy train in the wintry night.
They knocked at her cabin door to tell
That wonderful story we know so well,
Of the star that was guiding them all the way
To the place where the little Christ-Child lay,
And they begged that she, through the sleet and snow,
To the nearest village with them would go.
But naught cared she for that unknown Child,
And winds about her blew fierce and wild,
For the night was stormy, dark, and cold,
And poor Babousca was weak and old,
And in place of the pitiless winter's night,
Her lowly hut seemed a palace bright.
So to their pleadings she answered "Nay,"
And watched them all as they rode away.
But when they had gone and the night was still,
Her hut seemed lonely, and dark, and chill,
And she almost wished she had followed them
In search of the Babe of Bethlehem.
And then as the longing stronger grew,
She said, "I will find Him," but no one knew,
Where was the cradle in which He lay
When He came to earth upon Christmas day,
For the kings and their trains were long since gone,
And none could tell of the Babe, new born.
Then filling a basket with toys, she said,
As over the wintry moor she sped,
"I will go to the busy haunts of men,
There I shall find the kings, and then,
Together we'll go that Child to meet,
And jewels and toys we'll lay at His feet.
The kings with their trains have long been clay.
The hut on the moor has mouldered away,
But old and feeble, worn and gray,
Every year upon Christmas day,
It matters not though the winds blow chill,
Old Babousca is seeking still.
And every year when the joy-bells chime,
To tell of the blessed Christmas time,
When in Holland they tell to the girls and boys,
Of good Saint Nicholas and his toys,
In Russia, the little children say,
"Old Babousca has passed this way."
* * * * *
=A Christmas Garden.=
(A prose recitation, or suggestion for composition.)
There is a story told of a magician who conjured up a garden in the
winter time. The wand of the wizard, however, is not necessary to
disclose even in a northern climate in the cold months the beautiful
contents of Nature's world. The varieties of evergreen, pine, hemlock,
fir, cedar, and larch provide a variety of green foliage through the
dreary weather. The rich, clustering berries, besides their ornamental
character, furnish food for the snowbirds. The Christmas rose,
wax-like in its white purity, will bloom out of doors long after frost
if a glass is turned over the plant on cold nights. The ivy remains
glossy, its green berry another addition to our winter bouquet.
Farther south, but still within our United States, the scarlet holly
grows in luxuriance. So full of holiday association is this tree that
its branches are carefully transported a thousand miles for use during
Christmas week. Its crisp leaves, lively color, and happy sentiment
make the holly, pre-eminent as a winter ornament, prince in our
Christmas garden.
A contrast is furnished by the delicate sprays of the mistletoe
growing upon the limbs of the oak, elm, and apple trees. The white
berry attaches itself, curiously enough, without roots of any kind,
and becomes an enduring plant.
* * * * *
=A Christmas Carol.=
"What means this glory round our feet?"
The Magi mused, "more bright than morn?"
And voices chanted clear and sweet,
"To-day the Prince of Peace is born!"
"What means that star?" the shepherd said,
"That brightens through the rocky glen?"
And angels answering overhead,
Sang, "Peace on earth, good will to men!"
'Tis eighteen hundred years and more
Since those sweet oracles were dumb;
We wait for Him, like them of yore;
Alas, He seems so slow to come!
But it was said, in words of gold.
No time or sorrow e'er shall dim,
That little children might be bold
In perfect trust to come to Him.
All round about our feet shall shine
A light like that the wise men saw,
If we our loving wills incline
To that sweet Life which is the Law.
So shall we learn to understand
The simple faith of shepherds then,
And clasping kindly hand in hand,
Sing, "Peace on earth, good will to men!"
And they who do their souls no wrong,
But keep at eve the faith of morn,
Shall daily hear the angel-song,
"To-day the Prince of Peace is born!"
_J.R. Lowell_
* * * * *
=The Power of Christmas.=
Even under the pressure of battle the influence of the Christmas
season has exerted a powerful effect. In 1428, during the war of the
roses, while Orleans was under siege, the English lords, history tells
us, requested the French commanders to suspend hostilities, and let
the usual celebration of Christmas eve take their place. This was
agreed to, and the air was filled with the song of the minstrels and
the music of trumpets, instead of the discordant sounds of battle.
* * * * *
=Peace on Earth.=
(Recitation for a high-school pupil.)
The shepherds went their hasty way,
And found the lowly stable shed
Where the Virgin-Mother lay;
And now they checked their eager tread,
For to the Babe that at her bosom clung
A mother's song the Virgin-Mother sung.
They told her how a glorious light,
Streaming from a heavenly throng,
Around them shone suspending night,
While, sweeter than a mother's song,
Blest angels heralded the Saviour's birth,
Glory to God on high and Peace on Earth.
She listened to the tale divine,
And closer still the Babe she prest;
And while she cried, The Babe is mine!
The milk rushed faster to her breast;
Joy rose within her like a summer's morn;
Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born.
Thou Mother of the Prince of Peace,
Poor, simple, and of low estate!
That strife should vanish, battle cease,
O why should this thy soul elate?
Sweet music's loudest note, the poet' story--
Didst thou ne'er love to hear of fame and glory?
And is not War a youthful king,
A stately hero clad in mail?
Beneath his footsteps laurels spring;
Him Earth's majestic monarch's hail
Their friend, their playmate! and his bold bright eye
Compels the maiden's love-confessing sigh.
'Tell this in some more courtly scene,
To maids and youths in robes of state!
I am a woman poor and mean,
And therefore is my soul elate.
War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled,
That from the aged father tears his child!
"A murderous fiend, by fiends adored,
He kills the sire and starves the son;
The husband kills, and from her hoard
Steals all his widow's toil had won;
Plunders God's world of beauty; rends away
All safety from the night, all comfort from the day.
"Then wisely is my soul elate,
That strife should vanish, battle cease;
I'm poor and of a low estate,
The Mother of the Prince of Peace.
Joy rises in me like a summer's morn;
Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born."
_--S.T. Coleridge._
* * * * *
=The Christmas Tree.=
(Recitation for a boy to give before a Christmas tree is
dismantled.)
Of all the trees in the woods and fields
There's none like the Christmas tree;
Tho' rich and rare is the fruit he yields,
The strangest of trees is he.
Some drink their fill from the shower or rill;
No cooling draught needs he;
Some bend and break when the storms awake,
But they reach not the Christmas tree.
When wintry winds thro' the forests sweep,
And snow robes the leafless limb;
When cold and still is the ice-bound deep,
O this is the time for him.
Beneath the dome of the sunny home,
He stands with all his charms;
'Mid laugh and song from the youthful throng,
As they gaze on his fruitful arms.
There's golden fruit on the Christmas tree,
And gems for the fair and gay;
The lettered page for the mind bears he,
And robes for the wintry day.
And there are toys for the girls and boys;
And eyes that years bedim
Grow strangely bright, with a youthful light,
As they pluck from the pendant limb.
* * * * *
=Old English Christmases.=
The court celebrations of Christmas were observed with great splendor
during the reign of King Charles the First. The royal family, with the
lords and ladies, often took part themselves in the performances,
and the cost to prepare costumes and sceneries for one occasion
often amounted to ten thousand dollars. During Charles's reign, and
preceding his, Ben Jonson wrote the plays, or masques, for Christmas.
The court doings were, of course, copied outside by the people, and up
to the twelfth night after Christmas, sports and feastings held high
carnival.
So important were these Christmas court celebrations held by our
ancestors, and of such moment were the preparations, that a special
officer was appointed to take them in charge. To him were accorded
large privileges, very considerable appointments, and a retinue equal
to a prince's, counting in a chancellor, treasurer, comptroller,
vice-chamberlain, divine, philosopher, astronomer, poet, physician,
master of requests, clown, civilian, ushers, pages, footmen,
messengers, jugglers, herald, orator, hunters, tumblers, friar, and
fools. Over this mock court the mock monarch presided during the
holidays with a reign as absolute as the actual monarch.
* * * * *
=Holly and Ivy.=
(Noël is the French word for Christmas.)
Holly standeth in ye house
When that Noël draweth near;
Evermore at ye door
Standeth Ivy, shivering sore,
In ye night wind bleak and drear.
"Sister Holly," Ivy quoth,
"What is that within you see?
To and fro doth ye glow
Of ye yule-log flickering go;
Would its warmth did cherish me!
Where thou bidest is it warm;
I am shaken of ye storm."
"Sister Ivy," Holly quoth,
"Brightly burns the yule-log here,
And love brings beauteous things,
While a guardian angel sings
To the babes that slumber near;
But, O Ivy! tell me now,
What without there seest thou?"
"Sister Holly," Ivy quoth,
"With fair music comes ye Morn,
And afar burns ye Star
Where ye wondering shepherds are,
And the Shepherd King is born:
'Peace on earth, good will to men,'
Angels cry, and cry again."
Holly standeth in ye house
When that Noël draweth near;
Clambering o'er yonder door,
Ivy standeth evermore;
And to them that rightly hear,
Each one speaketh of ye love
That outpoureth from Above.
--_Eugene Field_.
* * * * *
=Holiday Chimes.=
(When it is impossible to prepare a regular Christmas program
for the friends of the pupils to enjoy with the school, the
entrance to holiday week may be signalled by the impromptu
reading and recitation of Christmas sentiments.)
CHRISTMAS DAY.
Feathery flakes are falling, falling
From the skies in softest way,
And between are voices calling,
"Soon it will be Christmas day!"
_--Mary B. Dodge_.
OLD DECEMBER.
With snowy locks December stands
'Mid sleet and storm; his wasted hands
A frosty scepter grasp and hold;
His frame is bent, his limbs are old;
His bearded lips are iced and pale;
He shivers in the winter gale.
Come then, O day of warm heart-cheer,
Make glad the waste and waning year,
While old December shivering goes
To rest beneath the drifted snows!
_--Benj. F. Leggett_.
CHRISTMAS-TIDE.
O happy chime,
O blessed time,
That draws us all so near!
"Welcome, dear day,"
All creatures say,
For Christmas-tide has come.
--_L.M. Alcott_
CHRISTMAS EVE.
The time draws near the birth of Christ:
The moon is hid; the night is still;
The Christmas bells from hill to hill
Answer each other in the mist.
Rise, happy morn! rise, holy morn!
Draw forth the cheerful day from night:
O Father! touch the east, and light
The light that shone when hope was born.
--_Alfred Tennyson_
FATHER CHRISTMAS.
Here comes old Father Christmas,
With sound of fife and drums,
With misteltoe about his brows,
So merrily he comes!
Hurrah for Father Christmas!
Ring all the merry bells!
And bring the grandsires all around
To hear the tale he tells.
--_Rose Terry Cooke_
CHRISTMAS IN ENGLAND.
Well our Christian sires of old
Loved when the year its course had rolled,
And brought blithe Christmas back again,
With all his hospitable train.
* * * * *
England was merry England when
Old Christmas brought his sports again.
'Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale;
'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale,
A Christmas gambol oft could cheer
The poor man's heart through half the year.
_--Sir Walter Scott_.
MUSIC OF CHRISTMAS.
What do the angels sing?
What is the word they bring?
What is the music of Christmas again?
Glad tidings still to thee,
Peace and good will to thee
Glory to God in the highest!
_--F.R. Havergal_.
A CHRISTMAS WISH.
A bright and blessed Christmas Day,
With echoes of the angels' song,
And peace that cannot pass away,
And holy gladness, calm and strong,
And sweetheart carols, flowing free!
This is my Christmas wish to thee.
--_F.R. Havergal_.
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS.
Where love takes, let love give, and so doubt not:
Love counts but the will,
And the heart has its flowers of devotion
No winter can chill;
They who cared for "good will" that first Christmas
Will care for it still.
--_A.A. Procter_.
ONCE A YEAR.
At Christmas play and make good cheer,
For Christmas comes but once a year.
--_Tusser_.
OLD ENGLISH SONG.
When Rosemary and Bays, the poet's crown,
Are bawled in frequent cries through all the town,
Then judge the festival of Christmas near,--
Christmas, the joyous period of the year!
Now with bright holly all the temples are strow;
With Laurel green and sacred Mistletoe.
OLD FATHER CHRISTMAS.
Old Father Christmas is passing by,
His cheeks are ruddy, he's bright of eye;
His beard is white with the snows of time.
His brow is hoary with frost and rime.
It's little he cares for the frost and the cold,
For old Father Christmas he never grows old.
EVERGREEN AND HOLLY.
Bring the evergreens and holly,
Bring the music and the song,
Chase away the melancholy,
By the pleasures bright, and jolly,
Which to Christmas time belong.
--_E.O. Peck_
* * * * *
=Christmas Dolls.=
By ELIZABETH J. ROOK.
_Children come skipping in, singing_:
"Here we come with our Christmas dolls
Christmas dolls, Christmas dolls,
Here we come with our Christmas dolls,
Wouldn't you like to see them?"
(Tune--"Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush.")
_The children then form a semi-circle on the stage, and each one steps
to the front as she gives her recitation, and then back to her place
again_.
_First Child_:
This is my Christmas dolly;
Her name is French--Celeste;
And of my many children,
She is the very best.
This dress, you see, is finest silk,
Her shoes are dainty kid,
And underneath this cunning hat
Her pretty curls are hid.
And do I love my precious doll?
Well, I just guess I do _(hugging it_)!
I'll love her even when she's old
As well as while she's new.
_Second Child_:
When I awoke on Christmas morn
I jumped right out of bed,
And ran into the nursery,
And not a word I said,
Until I saw my Christmas tree,
And then I laughed in glee;
For on it hung this pretty doll;
I knew it was for me,
And so I took it in my arms
And kissed its lovely face.
And then I said, "Now, dolly dear,
I'm going to call you Grace."
_Third Child (Black doll_):
This is Miss Lucindy Ann--
And though she's black as jet
She's just as good as any doll
To love, and hug, and pet.
I found her in my stocking, dressed
In this gay calico,
With bright bandanna on her head,
And orange ribbon bow.
I think she's very pretty,
And I guess that you do, too;
And don't you wish that I would give
Lucindy Ann to you?
_Fourth Child (Japanese doll_):
I wrote a note to Santa Claus,
And this is what I said:
"Please bring to me a brand-new doll;
The last you brought is dead."
And so on Christmas morning
I found this Jappy here,
It made me laugh to see her,
She looked so very queer.
But I said to her politely,
"Good morning, Miss Yum-Yum.
This, you know, is Christmas day;
I'm very glad you've come."
_Fifth Child (Rag doll_):
My dolly did not come from France,
Nor faraway Japan;
She's neither Spanish, Dutch nor Swiss,
She's just A-mer-i-can.
I know she is not beautiful,
Nor very finely dressed,
But I don't care for that--I think
American dolls are best.
_Sixth Child (Eskimo):_
My dolly is an Eskimo
From near the Arctic Sea;
Kris Kringle brought her in his sleigh
On Christmas eve for me.
She always wears this dress of fur,
Because where she was born
It is so very, very cold,
No light clothes can be worn.
But when she's been with me awhile
I think I'll make a change
And dress my doll in colors bright;
Then she'll not look so strange.
_Seventh Child (Holding a Teddy bear behind her_):
Now you all think your dolls are fine.
Of that I'm well aware;
But I have one to beat them all--
For mine's a Teddy bear _(holding it up_).
He doesn't wear a fancy dress,
He likes his coat of brown,
And he is just as handsome
As any doll in town.
I like to hold him in my arms,
And rock him in my chair,
Because he looks so cunning--
My little baby bear.
_Eighth Child (Doll dressed as infant_):
My doll's so very sleepy
She can't hold up her head;
She's just a wee, small infant,
And it's time she was in bed.
Your dollies all look sleepy, too,
And so I'm going to say,
"Let's sing our little lullaby
And carry them away."
SONG.
(Tune--"There is a Happy Land.")
_(To be sung very slowly and softly_.)
Here comes the old Sand Man,
Close, close your eyes;
He'll catch you if he can,
So now be wise.
Then while you sweetly sleep,
Angels their watch will keep,
Bright stars will o'er you peep
Down from the skies.
_(Tiptoe softly off the stage, holding the dolls as though asleep, and
humming the tune very faintly_.)
* * * * *
Red Pepper.
BY A. CONSTANCE SMEDLEY.
CHARACTERS.
_Princess Fadeaway_.
_Greening, Sweeting_, Ladies to the Princess.
_The Kitchenmaid._
_The Cooklet_.
_Red Pepper_, the scullion _(Prince Fairasday)_.
_Head Cook_.
_Frip, Tip, Snip, Pip_, Brownies.
Chorus of Cooks and Brownies, if desired.
TIME. Christmas Eve.
SCENE: The Kitchen in the Castle of Princess Fadeaway. Open
fireplace down R. in which the fire burns, and casts a red
light on the scene. Dresser against wall L. on which stands
a pile of dirty plates, tin basin and soap, various culinary
utensils, and a huge pepper-pot. Door up back L. Table centre,
which is spread with white cloth, bordered with a quaint
design. An old-fashioned wooden armchair R. of fireplace. Door
up R. Stool by dresser. Chair behind table. As the curtain
rises, the stage is quite dark, lit by a faint gleam from
fireplace. Mysterious music, which resolves itself into the
air of "Whist, whist, whist. Here Comes the Bogie Man." The
_Brownies_ heard singing behind the scenes. They dance in one
by one mysteriously round stage, in follow-my-leader fashion,
over chair and stool, and crawl under table, round and round
room as they sing.
OPENING CHORUS. (Air: "Whist, whist, whist! Here Comes the
Bogie Man!")
_Brownies_:
Whist, whist, whist!
Here comes the Brownie man!
The Christmas pie is made to-night!
We'll steal it if we can.
Whist, whist, whist!
The scullions will be fled!
Oh, what a time we'll have to-night
When everyone's in bed.
_(Enter Frip dramatically L.)_
_Frip:_ Whist!
_Brownies_: Frip! _(All prostrate themselves, touching ground with
their foreheads_.)
_Frip_: The deed is done! The scullions all are packing!
_Brownies_: Oh, noble Frip!
_Tip_: How did you manage it?
_Frip (seating himself on arm of chair. Brownies sit on floor centre,
facing him, sideface to audience):_ I bellowed so--Oooooooh!!!!
_(groans)_ and tweaked their ugly noses, and whispered through the
keyhole, "Wait till you guard the Christmas pie to-night!" until they
all fled shivering to the cook, to give him notice! And now none will
be left to guard the pie!
_Brownies_: 'Tis ours! 'Tis ours! _(Brownies rub themselves
delightedly.)_
_Frip_: Hush! Now the kitchenmaid and cooklet come, to make all ready
for his highness the head cook! We must leave them in peace until the
pie is made! But then--
_Brownies_: We'll steal it! _(Singing.)_
Whist, whist, whist!
Here comes the Brownie man,
The Christmas pie is made to-night
We'll steal it if we can!
Whist, whist, whist!
The scullions will be fled!
Oh! what a time we'll have to-night
When everyone's in bed!
_(They dance off_ R. _Music changes to a bright march. Enter the
Kitchenmaid and Cooklet. The Kitchenmaid is a short, fat, rosy, brisk
little girl. The Cooklet is a lanky, lazy, sentimental-looking girl.
The Kitchenmaid carries pasteboard, with pie-disk, rolling-pin, basin
of pastry, mince meat, etc., and enters staggering under her burden.
The Cooklet carries a small basin with three apples and a knife, and
eats apples as she peels them.)_
_Kitchen_: Oh, my eye and Betty Martin! What a pie we're going to make
to-night! Now look sharp, Cooklet, and peel the apples, for the head
cook will be here in half a minute, and the Princess, too, to give the
final stir-about; and if things aren't ready for her, we shall have
our heads chopped off. Oh, dearie, dearie, dearie, dear! _(Takes
apples from Cooklet and peels them briskly.)_
_Cooklet (sitting on stool, yawning)_: Ah, it's all very well for the
Princess! Nothing to do but eat and sleep all day. I wish I were she!
_Kitchen_: My word! I thank my stars I'm not! There she sits all day
with those stuck-up ladies, who rule her and fool her and manage her
and bully her till she can't call her soul her own! And all the nice
young princes who come riding to the castle are sent away without
getting so much as a peep at her, because her ladies are so afraid
she'll marry one, and then their turned-up noses would be out of
joint!
_Cooklet_: They tell the princes that the Princess is too weary to be
troubled with them!
_Kitchen_: Trouble, indeed! She'd find it no trouble to choose a
sweetheart from those nice young men if she were allowed to see them,
but she'll never do that, if her ladies have a word in the matter!
_(Furious talking outside.)_
_Kitchen_: Oh dearie, dearie, dearie, dear! If it isn't the head cook!
And oh, my stars, what's happened?
_(Enter Head Cook, angrily. Kitchenmaid and Cooklet both stand
trembling with fright.)_
_Head Cook_: Nevaire did I hear such impertinence. Who has gone, do
you sink? Who has packed up their traps and left me to-night--to-night
of all nights! Ze night I make ze Christmas pie! Ze night ze Princess
comes with all her ladies to give ze final stir-about! Who? Vat? Ven?
Vy? Vy?? vy???
_Cooklet and Kitchen (falling on their knees, clasping their hands
entreatingly)_: O sir, pray calm yourself!
_Head Cook (dancing about with rage, and shouting)_: Calm! I am
nevaire so perfectly calm in my life! My scullions have gone! Zey vill
not vatch ze pie! Because zey fear ze Brownies!
_Kitchen_: The scullions gone?
_Cooklet_: Then who's to guard it?
_Head Cook_: You--of course--you earthworms!
_Both_: O dear, kind cook, we daren't! _(They grovel with fear.)_
_Head Cook (thunderously)_: Daren't?
_Cooklet_: We're afraid of the dark!
_Kitchen_: And oh, we're afraid of the Brownies!
_Head Cook_: Afraid--afraid--but vat is zere to be afraid? If ze
Brownies come, you have only to sprinkle zem with ze magical red
pepper!
_Cooklet_: I should faint directly I saw them!
_Kitchen_: O dear, good, handsome, gentle cook, please don't leave us
alone down here to-night!
_Head Cook (almost speechless with rage)_: But vat you vant? Do
you mean to say--you--vant--Me--so gr-r-r-reat--so gr-r-rand--so
mightiful--Me--Chief Head Cook--you vant zat I should keep my eyes
avake all night--ven I have a kitchenmaid and cooklet to suffaire for
me? Is zat vat you mean, heh?
_(They nod sheepishly.)_
_Cooklet_: You're a man!