It was 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 in their heads.
Mama and her kerchief and I, and my cap, had just settled down for a long winter's nap, when out on a lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew in a flash, and tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.
The moon, on the breast of new -fallen snow, gave the lustre of midday objects below.
And 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 the moment it must be St.
Nick, more rapid than eagles, as coarse as they came, and he whistled and shouted, call 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 away, dash away, dash away all.
As dry leaves, and before the wild hurricane, fly when they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky, so up to the housetop, his courses they flew, with a sleigh full of toys and St.
Nicholas to, and then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof, the prancing and pawing of each little hoof, as I drew in my hand, and was turning around, down the chimney St.
Nicholas came, with a bound.
He was all dressed 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 just like a peddler 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 white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, and the smoke it had circled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face, and a round little belly that shook when he laughed, like a bowl full 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 sound of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, Happy Christmas to all, and to all, good night.