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The Telltale Tile
OLIVE THORNE MILLER IT BEGINS with a bit of gossip...

A Christmas Carol
CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI In the bleak mid-winte...

The Christmas Masquerade
MARY E. WILKINS FREEMAN ON Christmas Eve the Mayor...

The Voyage Of The Wee Red Cap
RUTH SAWYER DURAND It was the night of St. Stephen...

The Waits
MARGARET DELAND At the break of Christmas Da...

Christmas At Fezziwig's Warehouse
CHARLES DICKENS "YO HO! my boys," said Fezziwig. "...

Old Father Christmas
J. H. EWING THE custom of Christmas-trees came fro...





Church Decking At Christmas






WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Would that our scrupulous sires had dared to leave
Less scanty measure of those graceful rites
And usages, whose due return invites
A stir of mind too natural to deceive;
Giving the memory help when she could weave
A crown for Hope!--I dread the boasted lights
That all too often are but fiery blights,
Killing the bud o'er which in vain we grieve.
Go, seek, when Christmas snows discomfort bring,
The counter Spirit found in some gay church
Green with fresh holly, every pew a perch
In which the linnet or the thrush might sing,
Merry and loud, and safe from prying search,
Strains offered only to the genial spring.





Next: So Now Is Come Our Joyfulst Feast

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