The daily crescent. [volume] ([New Orleans, La.]) 1848-1851, 1850-12-24
a christmas Tale.

BY t. 8. ARTHUR.
u don't think il at all worth while, ;" said Mrs.
Lamberton g LIS great waste of money, and,
besides, does them no real good''
Very true, remarked Mr. Lambefton, thou
sands Of dollars are spent al Christmas for one
trumpery thing and another that might be far more
does children, as you say, no good"
Hpw much did we spend on last Christmas for
drums, horses and dogs, and the dear knows what
oh, don't ask me More than I'D like to count
up. And it was all sheer waste If the money
had been given to the poor, there would have been
some some satisfaction in thinking about it. But now
there is none."
Well, I'm not in favor of spending a single
cent for toys and such like things
Give them all sixpence apiece, and they'll
be happy enough" said the father, and then
We'll have no crying over broken dolls heads,
crippled wagons, or legless horses''
Harry will be dreadfully disappointed, I'm
afraid, remarked the mother, already half reent-
ing. He has done little else all day but talk
about what Kriss Kringe viii put in his stocking
Tonight And Anna will cry her eyes out if She
Uncle Joseph and Aunt Rachel were silent audi.
tors of this little conversation Just then the lights
were brought into the room, and Anna, Harry and
Charley came bounding in with them, as wild and
playful young fawns. They had been looking
forward to Christmas for can't tell how long, and
now that il was only one day off, they could hardly
contain themselves. Their young maginations
teemed with images of things in store for them by
the good Krss Kringe, in regard to whose identity,
there was division among the younger members
of the house, Anna, who was eight years old ,
and, therefore, entitled by her age to have her
opinions considered of weight, positively declared
that her father was Kriss Kringe; but Harry,
three years her junior, positively asserted that
the aforesaid krss came down the chimney, and
was therefore, very different parsonage from her
father, who was too big to get in at the top or out
at the bottom. AS for little eurY-headed, rosy
lived to love sugar pums, he didn't trouble his head
at all about the matter. His whole theory on the
subject lay in his confident expectation of finding
his stockings filed with toys and candies on Christ,
mas morning Beyond that he had no questions to
ask nor doubts for solution.
''Oh, papa! Tomorrow's Christmas" cried
Charley, climbing upon his fathers knee. To.mor-
rows Chrstmas And won't KFiss Kringle bring
me the nice things! want a horse, and sword,
and wheelbarrow - and a whole heap OF sugar
plums.
"rm afraid Krss won't come this year" re-
turned Mr.. Lamberton, wishing to take the edge
off Of Charley's disappointment
"Oh yes he will, spoke up Anna and Harry
quickly And he'll bring me- said the latter,
q a gun and sword-and then won't l fight the
Mexicans. Bang boom! bang !"
'And he'll bring me the dearest wax doll ''
said Anna, with curly hair, and eyes that open
and shut as if it were alive. Oh won't it be
nice !"
"Don't be too certain, Anna,n said the father
krlss krlngle don come every year..
Oh yes he does yes he does = answered two
or three little voices at once. He came last
Christmas and the Christmas before, " added Anna
and he'll be here this year know he will
But suppose he shouldn't come r. suggested
MI; Lamberton, and he looked very grave.
There was something so serious IN their father
voice, that the children felt that his words really
meant more than they had at iirst believed, and
their faces became sober also. Just then the tea
bell rang, and all thoughts oil toys and dolls were
Tor the moment dlsslPated, After supper, the ehl
dren were washed and dressed IN Their night clothes
Each hung stocking IN the chimney corner
ready Tor the advent OF the good genius who loves
children and then yielded to the oft repeated sol
lcltaton Of Margaret the nurse to come along anc
go TO bed
must say my prayers hrst, hsped dear little
Charley, running up to his mother, and kneelinl
down before her.
Our Father,H sad the mother, In low, serious
voice.
Won't kriss fill my stockings full, mother q
But you are saying your prayers, now. Yol
mustn't think of toys, Charley. Our Father"
"Our Father" came musically from the swee